


Sing Me A Song of Scars Wrapped In Red

by The_Infinant_One



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Asexual Character, Avengers - Freeform, Child Abuse, Child!Peter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, It's Peter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pedophilia, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter and Thor have a heart to heart, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tony Stark Has A Heart, a lot of other dark themes, foster kid, most all of them will pop up somewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Infinant_One/pseuds/The_Infinant_One
Summary: Peter didn’t have a place to call home, not really.When Peter started coming to Sister Margaret’s at 13, Wade took it upon himself to befriend the child. As they grew to know each other, Wade found out about Peter’s life and again, took it upon himself to look after Peter himself. When Wade left because of his cancer, Peter was devastated, but carried on. Years later they reunite, but the bond they built was broken. A series of events happen as they attempt to reconnect, but life doesn’t make it easy(Aka A story where Peter and Wade know each other before their powers)





	1. His Life Was An Equation going X, Y, and Z

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a Spiderman/Deadpool fic. I decided to post the first chapter or so just to see how it does. I'm really excited to post this, I have about half of it written right now and it's really fun to write. 
> 
> -Things will get dark and angsty, as seen in the tags. I'll make sure to add additional warnings to each chapter  
> -the tags may change  
> -Even though the characters may have a different relationship dynamic than a romantic one, I try to keep their heart of the character and relationship the same  
> -Tom Holland's my Spiderman   
> -Ryan Reynolds is my Deadpool
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

In a sentence, Wade could summarize his life as 'one shitty fanfic'. The kind where the rating is 'explicit' and the content warnings consist of 'rape/non-con', 'graphic depictions of violence', and all that jazz. Add those with an author who clearly lost the plot halfway through writing and you've got Wade. The character with a tragic past that one reads about for satisfaction. Drugs? Yes. Abusive childhood? check. Tortured? Been there done that. Repeatedly raped, ignored, internally suffering? Yes, check, _aaand_ yes again.

Really, it was almost an equation.

Whatever the equation was, his past landed him on a bar stool almost every night, with his ass print ingrained in the old wood as proof. The sleazy bar roared with the sounds and scents of some of New York's most dangerous people. He was one of them. In fact, he just returned from a two-week trip where he took out an underground mafia. Earned some big bucks with no setbacks.

When he walked into the building, the commotion in the corner area of the bar peaked his curiosity. That, and also it was the area he usually sat. Walking towards the point of interest, he saw a group of drunk men cornering someone sitting on a stool closest to the wall.

 _Some poor bastard who was probably new_ , Wade thought, until he saw the new person’s face.

_A child? A fucking child. Here. What mother of fucking cheeseballs would let a child into this place?_

“Do ya want a blowjob?” One of the men asked in gravelly, humorous tone, motioning to Weasel, who added in his own jab, to make one.

The kid’s reaction was of pure terror as he shrunk back, causing everyone in the scene roar with laughter. 

“It’s a drink kid, chill,” The man who asked responded, laughing and patting the kid’s cheek lightly.

It was subtle, but Wade noticed the kid flinch and press back further against the wall.

The movement triggered Wade into action as he pushed past the ring of people, grabbing the man who touched the child and shoved him back harshly. The crowd yelled obscenities at him, telling him to "fuck off and let them have their fun", but Wade didn't budge. Instead, he stood protectively between the child and men, ready to shoot someone if he had to. 

“Oh, want ‘im to y’rself? I—” The man who touched the child earlier took a bold step forward, stopping in his tracks when Wade pulled a gun on him. The bar quieted down into murmurs before someone started shouting words of encouragement to shoot, causing a chain reaction of shouting, men and women cheering on both sides.

“I will shoot your _fucking_ balls,” Wade warned calmly despite all the shouting, aiming the gun in the man's genital area to emphasize, his threat crystal clear.

The man stood his ground a bit longer, the tension in the air heavy and dangerous. The man stood down eventually, grunting and murmuring something vulgar and threatening, but walking away. Wade placed the gun next to him on the bar like nothing happened, sitting down beside the kid who was plastered to the wall looking like he wished he could sink into it.

 _Reasonable_  he supposed, given the situation.

“So, where’d ya go this time?” Weasel asked before Wade settled, the bar already settling into its regular bustle. 

Ignoring the kid’s existence, Wade replayed his mission in brief detail, not skimping on the gory details.

“You kill people for a living?” The child piped up beside him.

One look made the kid replant himself against the wall.

“Only the big bad guys who deserve it,” Wade said in quiet, matter of fact tone with a hint of mischief, “do you deserve it?”

The silence that followed just reminded Wade how questionable his humor was, and how it probably didn’t bode well with a kid.

“The silence is reaffirming,” Wade directed his sentence to Weasel.

“Kid looks like he couldn’t even hurt a frog,” Weasel replied dryly.

The kid narrowed his eyes at Weasel, but Weasel kept talking, ignoring the kid’s glare. When Weasel left to take care of someone’s order, Wade sat, reading the Dead Pool list silently when the kid asked another question, “Do you kill people if you don’t get paid?”

“Really caught up on the killing here,” Wade pointed out, but wasn’t annoyed at all, “how old are you, like 10?”

“I… just turned 13,” The kid replied warily, “how old are you?”

“Aww you’re a baby!” he said maybe coming across a bit condescending, but mostly joking. He had a soft spot for kids, but that didn’t mean he liked to mess around with them.

“Am not…” the kid grumbled and pouted

“How adorable,” Wade cooed.

“Ha, you should answer the question though, how old are you Wade?” Weasel entered the conversation.

“30.”

“Plus 2” Weasel noted.

“Fine, 32.”

The kid didn't respond, but turned his attention to the gun resting by Wade's hand.

 

Because he was tired of thinking of the kid as “kid”, and also the fact that the author knows the name is no big reveal, Wade asked for the kid’s name to keep the conversation going.

“Peter,” the kid said softly, looking at Wade directly now.

“I’m Wade,” he held out his hand, Peter accepted it slowly, still eyeing Wade cautiously as if Wade might bite.

“Who’s your old man here?” 

“Uhm…” Peter looked uncertain, a look crossing his face, hesitating for too long, but finally pointed to a very drunk man in the corner. Charles Weasley something.

Wait, no, that was the name of the red-head from the _Harry Potter_ series. That wasn’t it. Now, if he _was_ Charles Weasley, Wade may have wanted to be the man’s kid himself, but seeing as the man was not red-headed _or_ interested in dragons, Charles what’s-his-name was just another drunk merc who looked like the uglier, sleazier version of Inigo Montoya.

Wade had a bad feeling about the man. Charles looked like the definition of a pedophile, which was an unfair judgment to him, but a perfectly sound judgment. It was the mustache. It was always the mustache. He didn’t know the man well, but he did know that this Peter kid couldn’t have been the man. Biologically at least. The boy may have lucked out and gotten the mother’s features, but he doubted it.

“That can’t be your dad,” Wade said matter-of-factly. Something didn't sit right in his stomach. This child who just appeared out of nowhere being brought to a bar, and where was Charles when the men were surrounding Peter? Why didn't the man fucking stand up and protect the kid himself? Hell, why is Peter sitting alone? Well, he guessed if anything the kid didn't want to be around a bunch of drunk men which again, was understandable. 

“It’s not,” Peter said sharply, avoiding Wade’s gaze as he tensed up and folded his arms close to his body.

Yep, definitely something off. Wade and Weasel shared a look.

“Hey, kid wanna see something funny?” Weasel asked to distract Peter, testing the waters.

“Nobody wants to see your Archibald Asparagus looking balls,” Wade interrupted, his own crude humor poking through.

“I—they— they do Not look like that,” Weasel pointed a finger for emphasis between Wade and the kid, “Shut the fuck up you fucking cocksucker.”

Wade and Weasel continued their crude banter, Wade noting how Peter slowly uncoiled from himself and instead leaned against the bar’s grimy walls, looking exhausted and out of it until ugly Inigo Montoya walked over with a slight tilt to his walk, beaconing Peter out the door. Peter and Wade shared another look, Peter's eyes looking more exhausted than scared as he slid out of his seat and walked away. 

 _Not your problem_ Wade thought to himself hours after the bar. Peter was just some kid who was scared in the moment, no biggie. He'd probably never see the child again. But who was he if Charles wasn't his dad? Nephew possibly? Something didn't sit right and if the kid was in a sticky situation and Wade could possibly help, then he would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? The thing about first/second chapters is that they're like first impressions and I hope you enjoyed this enough to continue reading.


	2. Nobody prepared him for the Variable P

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade gets Peter to talk more, A stupid card game is played, and Weasel's at least trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this a couple days after the first chapter, but then this chapter proved harder to edit than originally thought. But here it is, hope you enjoy!

**-Wade-**

“So now that ugly Ingo Montoya left, you gonna just stand there like a statue for a couple hours or sit down?"

A week had passed since they first met, and here Wade was, sat at the bar with a beer in hand, with Peter standing in front of him. Wade overheard Peter's not-dad grumbling some kind of orders at Peter, resting his hand on Peter’s short hair and pushing him away roughly before walking over to his friends. With Charles gone, Peter stood with his arms crossed observing the room, tensing when any man walked too close to him. When Wade caught Peter's attention, he huffed in amusement when Peter jumped and looked at Wade with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. 

"I... don't know who you're talking about..." Peter finally responded slowly, his voice soft and careful.

"Princess Bride! Aw c'mon Peter, you've got to have at least heard of that movie, " Wade pretended to sound hurt, his movements animated to show he was joking. Peter looked somehow even more lost as he backed away and stared at Wade warily.

Above all the noise in the bar, the yelling, the shouting, and general buzz of conversation, he could practically hear the gears turning in Peter’s mind as the kid’s face was etched with conflict. After another long pause, looking at Wade warily, Peter muttered, “You... you remember my name.”

It wasn't the response he was expecting, but Wade ran with it. “Of course, pretty common name," he responded casually. It was a common name, there were lots of basic white boys and a rabbit named Peter out there.

"Oh..."

He noticed Peter looking at the almost empty beer bottle in his hand, tense.

“Not drunk if that’s what you’re wondering," Wade scoffed but pushed the bottle away anyway, softening his voice, "takes a lot more than one bottle to get me buzzed.”

The two stared at each other, waiting for the next person's move till Wade arched an eyebrow and patted the seat nearest the wall and invited Peter to sit with him since Peter wasn't going to make any move anytime soon. 

 

Wade followed Peter's movement as he turned to glance at Charles’ table, catching at that moment one of the drunk men making a V shape with his fingers and flicking his tongue between them, adding some lewd comment about a hooker.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Wade said softly.

Peter hesitantly walked to the chair and sat, his back leaning against the wall, making as much distance between him and Wade as possible. His quick breathing, narrowed eyes, and tensed shoulders sent clear signals that Peter was studying him expectantly like Wade was gonna jump up and kill Peter at any second, so Wade made sure to keep his gestures slow, his tone light, and his questions basic and open.

 

**-PETER-**

Between Charles' group and Wade, he figured Wade was the better option. With Wade at least it was a one-on-one instead of a group making uncomfortable and offensive comments towards him while Charles laughed or added his own remark. Given, Wade could do exactly the same thing if not more and he'd feel just as helpless. A big a part of him was scared Wade would try to touch him, make him drink something, or force him into something that made him uncomfortable, but those gestures never came, and that made Peter even more on edge, waiting for something bad to happen. The man was a killer after all. 

 

But then he started to see Wade more.

 

Occasional nights became constant, and once or twice a week became weekly to the point where Peter could be “considered a regular” in Wade’s words and was then dubbed by Weasel as such.

His worry of Wade's position as an assassin and merc even faded once Wade helped him understand what and why he killed people. With the explanation of  _ "Sometimes you gotta kill to make the world a better place"  _ and the reasoning behind the logic, he supposed he could understand where Wade was coming from. Also, a deeper part of him secretly found it exciting because how many kids got to befriend an assassin?

The only thing about Wade was that he talked So. Fucking. Much.

But even his talking became bearable as Peter started to enjoy Wade's company, getting used to the man’s nonsensical topics. The stories and the way Wade presented them entertained him, making him laugh like he hadn’t done in years. 

As he laid in bed at nights after coming home from the bar, he mulled over reasons why he found himself liking Wade.

Wade, by textbook term, would be considered a bad example. A bad role model. A man that parent's tell their children to stay away from. He was dangerous for sure, his stories of "un aliving" people were quite graphic and his behavior was questionable. At first, it grossed Peter out and honestly scared him a bit, but soon he began to accept it. Wade was a mercenary, and even though society marked Wade as the deadly Merc with a mouth, it didn’t define Wade. No, the society marked the profession. The mercenary. The Merc with a mouth was a cold-blooded killer who never failed a job, who always accomplished his mission no matter how brutal he got. But Wade was more than a cold-blooded killer, he wasn’t his profession, he was professional.

He was everything Peter remembered his Aunt telling him to stay away from, so Peter was confused about why he started to find comfort in him. 

Maybe it was because of his personality. He was kind and funny, exceptionally crude, but caring underneath his status as the deadly "merc with a mouth". Maybe it was because Wade was the first person who showed actual concern and he was so desperate for friends that he’d settle for the merc who spout out shitty jokes and listened to him. Maybe it's because he never got mad at Peter. He never put him down or told him he was stupid and worthless. Maybe it was because he respected Peter's boundaries, something that people never did. Maybe it was because he was patient and took time to get to know him, not badgering for Peter to talk more than he wanted to or telling him to shut up. Maybe it was because he talked to him in the first place, something that Peter couldn't wrap his head around.

There was a small part in him that found himself enjoying the attention after being ignored for so long, and an even bigger part yearning for constant positivity and comfort that came with Wade.

And then Wade went on jobs. They didn’t usually last long, but a part of Peter started to worry about him. An odd feeling in his stomach that he didn’t particularly like, but he was always worried that Wade wouldn’t come back. He was human after all, and humans could be easily killed. was a calm before the storm, and he knew he couldn’t have good things. Nothing in his life ever stayed good.

 

\-------------- 

Peter couldn’t wait for Wade to get back from whatever job he was doing. With Wade gone, some of the rougher crowd attempted to talk to him and bring them to their table to be around “real men” leaving Peter always uncomfortable. They invaded his personal space, the warmth radiating from their bodies causing his own body to freeze and his mind spin dizzily. He found it would take him hours, even after the bar, to find himself finally able to relax.

 

Then one man decided it would be okay to touch him. It was just a hand on his wrist, but the hand felt wrong. It felt hostile. Warm and sweaty and the grip too tight, the touch felt like he was being burned. A sense of overwhelming panic rushed through him as he felt himself screaming at the man, violently attempting to pull away, and in a moment of blind panic, he bit the man’s arm. With the taste of blood in his mouth, teeth still lodged in the man’s skin, the man pulled back in surprised alarm pulling Peter forward and tumbling off the chair, thudding painfully to the floor. 

 

Realizing his mistake immediately, he curled into a fetal position to protect himself from punches he knew was coming. An overwhelming feeling of dread swelled in his chest as he tried to breath, the commotion around him barely audible over the pounding in his ears. 

 

But the punches never came, and the noise started to die down. 

 

He felt a smaller, thinner hand shake him gently by the shoulder, but he could only retreat into himself more with a pathetic whimper. This touch, although not hostile feeling, still felt uncomfortably hot over his thin clothing. 

 

”Hey, kiddo, we’re gonna put you behind the bar, okay?” A gravely, but definitely feminine voice said. He looked up then, blinking away tears he didn’t know he was shedding to see a woman, probably in her late 30’s, looking down at him with a hard expression, but her eyes were soft. 

 

He didn’t want to be touched, it hurt, but his shaky form wouldn’t allow him to stand by himself. Unwillingly he let himself be guided by the woman behind the bar where he more or less plopped to the ground, forcing himself to breathe. His panic subsided when he felt a new wave of embarrassment and worry of what Charles would do when they got home. His mind reasoned that he deserved being punished for acting up and embarrassing Charles, accepting the blow Charles delivered as he backhanded slapped him before even closing the front door when they got home, the force of the slap sending Peter sprawling to the ground with involuntary tears springing to his eyes and a shallow cut on his cheek from one of Charles’ rings. 

\-----------

 

He was really starting to worry when Wade didn’t appear after a week, a gut-wrenching thought that he was dead lingering in the back of his mind. Weasel tried talking to him, telling him Wade was probably okay and that sometimes he left for months at a time. Somehow, that made Peter feel even worse. Weasel was okay, but he didn't understand why the man tried to talk to him. He rarely did with Wade there, mostly ignoring him like everyone else did, but he did allow Peter to hang out behind the bar counter away from everyone so he was okay in Peter’s books.  

 

Over the nights Wade was gone, Peter could tell Weasel was getting frustrated with trying to talk, but he didn't have the same ability to talk like Wade did, and Peter didn't know how to respond. He only sat awkwardly staring up at Weasel, always trying to comprehend if what the man was saying was a joke or a direct hit to his "plain white rice" personality. 

 

"I know I'm not Wade, but I'm trying here," Weasel sighed after another uneventful night of trying to get Peter to talk. Before Wade left, he’d more or less threaten Weasel to look after the kid. Peter didn’t have to know that detail though.

 

"I know," Peter shrugged.

"Sorry," Weasel said in a flat tone while still able to sound lost.

"It's okay," Peter responded just as lost, looking back down at his jacket sleeve he was picking at out of boredom, not knowing what else to say.

As the two carried on with their own things that evening, Peter couldn't help but wonder why Wade wanted to talk to him so bad. Intrusive, dark thoughts crossed his mind, clouding all the positive memories as he drew conclusions of all the ways his relationship with Wade could go wrong. Even though he enjoyed Wade's company and Wade constantly giving Peter the reassurance he needed, indulged in his questions, laughed with him instead of at him, endured his nerd moments… he wondered if Wade would ever turn on him. He imagined Wade secretly being a child murderer, or how he’d kidnap Peter and sell him away, or decide that he didn't want to talk to Peter anymore. He couldn’t imagine Wade doing any of those things, but the feeling that he felt when he first met Wade still lingered I the back of his mind even though Wade showed no signs of a personal threat. The good serial killers usually didn’t. He still didn't know why Wade would talk to him though, and that kept low warning bells ringing in the back of his mind. Warning bells he decided to ignore. 

 

Those were just thoughts though.

 

When Wade did come back, Peter threw those thoughts to the back of his mind, too hungry for positive attention to care about the potential consequences. Peter felt like a dog who hadn’t seen his owner in forever, his whole body perking up, his mind coming alive. He felt a little pathetic, that he couldn’t keep his damn emotions under control, but then the excitement turned to worry when Wade came in with a cast and a healing black eye.

He looked roughed up, but his personality was the same. Loud, excitable, snarky… they sat as usual, Wade asking him about the event that happened while he was gone. A little mortifyed, Peter answered Wades questions, thanking god when Wade changed subjects by pulling out a pack of cards wanting to teach Peter how to play poker. Peter accepted half-heartedly, but couldn’t get his mind into the moment. He couldn't concentrate on the rules, feeling bad and repeatedly apologizing for not understanding, feeling like a burden because he knew Wade should go home instead of talking to him. He wasn’t worth that much, if anything and Wade should go home to his girlfriend, lay in bed, get a good nights rest. Not sit here for hours with Peter entertaining him.

 

“Why so serious?" Wade asked suddenly in a bad accent.

Another movie reference, he supposed. He wasn't going to answer truthfully, but he didn't want to lie either. He knew Wade practically smelled lies, and although he never called Peter out on one or got angry, Wade would look at him with a soft expression, his eyes practically speaking for him saying,  _ 'i know you're lying'.  _ It was a silent expression that kept Peter up all night racked with guilt, feeling like he let Wade down. 

“Why do you keep talking to me,” Peter asked, snapping his jaw shut and looking at Wade in fear. He felt his heart beating rapidly. It was an honest question, one he's had since day three, but he was too scared to ask. Too nervous of the answer or the reaction. Charles would get mad at questions like that, and he didn’t want to get on Wade’s bad side, but now his stupid mouth betrayed him.

“That is a very good question,” Wade answered, genuinely, only creating more turmoil in Peter.

“Do you have a good answer?” Peter asked, keeping his voice steady, ready for the negative reaction, but it didn’t come, and that was more unnerving to Peter than anger.

“Well, you're clearly uncomfortable here, and not all the people here have honest intentions. Just thought you'd feel more comfortable here with your back to the wall instead of out there where it smells like the men took a swim in their personal ass sweat. Plus, you're probably smarter than everyone in here combined, it's nice finally being able to talk to someone else smart. I've had to listen to this dumbass motherfucker for years," Wade jutted a thumb at Weasel who responded by flipping him the bird. 

Peter couldn't help but snort at the comment despite the intense conversation.

"So, back to you. Do you want me to stop talking to you?”

The question was a way out, Peter noted. He also noted Wade studying his features, looking for any sign of distress and probably seeing his fear and relief rolling off of him in waves. 

“No, not really, I... I like talking to you," Peter mumbled feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as he shook from nervousness. It was the first time Peter admitted he enjoyed Wade's company out loud. he felt like he was being laid bare, the closest he's admitted his feelings for a long time. The first time he admitted that he didn't want Wade to leave. And instead of feeling regretful of his response, he felt… okay.  

“Aww, I like talking to you too Petey Pie," Wade laughed, "ball's in your court, just say the word and I’ll be out of your hair." 

Peter couldn't help smile, relief flooding him as he felt all the pent-up anxiety and fear being lifted off his chest, his body finally relaxing. Wade wasn’t mad, and he liked Peter. That’s all that mattered.

“Oh look, he smiles!” 

“First time since you’ve been gone,” Weasel muttered.

“Hey!” Peter frowned again, only to smile immediately after, this one bigger than before.

Peter knew he'd never said “the word”, and Wade, thankfully, changed topics.

 

 

**-WADE-**

Wade spent a lot of time wondering how to get Peter to talk, trying out different tactics to get the boy to open up over the months. The one thing he immediately picked up on Peter’s speech pattern was that he was polite. Almost Captain America polite. And quiet, but behind that, Wade could see Peter wanting to ask questions, but every time he caught Peter opening his mouth, the kid would snap it shut, too scared to ask. So to hear that a couple of low lives made this quiet child scream and cry... to say he was angry when he was told about Peter's outburst was an understatement. When Peter left and Weasel updated him on events that occurred while he was gone, he barely waited for Weasel to finish naming names when Wade was already on those men, easily breaking arms before he was being pulled away. Even then, Wade had to leave the facility to calm himself down.

When he saw Peter again, the smile and relief that flooded the child's face didn't go unnoticed. 

He expected Peter to be embarrassed or answer in short "yes" or "no" questions when Wade asked him about the incident, but he didn't expect Peter to ask his own heavy question. 

The question wasn't as difficult as it was loaded.

He didn't want to scare and overwhelm the kid and tell him how he actually enjoyed talking to Peter. How he started to feel protective of Peter even if he only saw him at nights, how he felt the need to protect Peter since day one. 

Then Peter admitted that he enjoyed Wade's company. The nervousness that radiated off Peter's small body hit Wade in waves so he didn't make a big deal out of it, but reciprocated the feeling, making sure to acknowledge how big of a step it must have been for Peter to admit it.

And then Peter smiled, a smile that morphed Peter’s face into someone almost unrecognizable. Smiling, Peter didn’t look like he had the weight of the world on him, and like a child who was enjoying life. A smile Wade had a small guess didn’t show itself a lot.

 

 

They continued to play with the cards over the next few nights, Wade observing how Peter reacted to the activity so he could move onto his second step: introduce a game that would help get to know each other. 

The game was like a mix between War and Blackjack. They would play like War, where they would place three cards down and flip the fourth card over. Whoever got the bigger number got the cards BUT if the person with the smaller number wanted to, they could ask a question and earn the cards immediately, or play blackjack, where the number comes to 21 and risk losing more cards. The person who has all the cards, in the end, would win.

He called it “Warjack.” A stupid name that everyone, including the author, could agree on, but it had a ring to it and made Peter chuckle at the stupidity at least.

“Where the fuck did you come up with that game?” Weasel asked judgmentally.

“Made it up while shooting down a ring of drug dealers.”

At first, Wade would ask the questions, some stemming from ridiculous ones such as “would you rather turn into a pencil or an eraser for a day” to “what do you do at home?”. He didn't hold an expectation for Peter to ask questions or answer in long sentences and never badgered him into asking a question instead of playing the blackjack part of the game.

Wade watched Peter open up to him more, his answers to questions becoming wordier and his responses became more natural instead of always carefully expressed. He had a suspicion it was because of the conversation they had a couple weeks ago that gave Peter the confidence, but he didn’t dwell on the thought.  

Then he started asking questions that became more detailed and frequent. Of course, he was scared to ask, that was a given, but once Wade assured him repeatedly that this was a game and that questions were allowed no matter what they were, Peter asked a lot. And Wade meant A Lot. And he loved to talk, it just took a bit to get him started.

Wade enjoyed listening; Something he rarely did with the majority of people. Yeah sometimes he had to ask a string of carefully worded questions to get answers and maybe he didn’t get them all verbally, but Peter was an open book. Maybe some parts were in braille and not a lot of people understood him, but lucky for him he could read braille.  

Through the game nights, Peter answered a lot of unanswered questions he had about the kid. He was a foster kid, which made a lot of sense. That Charles _ Westcott _ (not Weasley) was a widower, that Peter had essentially no friends but didn’t mind, and a lover of science and photography. He could write an essay on the things he learned, but given the chapter is already eight pages long, he settled on the knowledge that the child was brilliant. A little awkward, dorky, nerd, but brilliant all the same.

 

\---------------

 

“Hey Wade, got a card for ya,” Weasel interrupted their game, passing Wade a black card with gold lettering on it while the two were sat playing Warjack. They played it now more because it was fun instead of questions, although the occasional question did appear.

“Do you ever get a name of a person you don’t want to kill?” Peter asked with no card to prompt him, his confidence rising over the nights with Wade. He wasn’t as scared to ask questions.

“No,” Wade tapped the card on the table, looking at him. “I don’t know the person I’m killing, I only know their name and why they’re on a hitlist. I just know what they did was bad.”

 

Peter couldn’t ignore the disappointed feeling in his chest, but he pushed it aside, knowing Wade had a life outside. But he was curious about Wade’s job all the same.

“But you only kill the bad guys,” it wasn’t a question.

“Yep!”

“So you’re like a hero,”

He scoffed at that, “HA. No, I am no hero. Far from it”

“The Avengers kill the bad guys.”

“The only thing the Avengers and I have in common is our ability to cause chaos. Usually, though I don’t make the situation worse than better,”

“Do you want to be a hero?”

He thought about it for a second, “no. I’m not even worthy enough to be considered a hero.”

 

 

**-Peter-**

This time, it was Charles’ turn to receive a black card from Weasel. Peter was content listening to Wade tell another story of his recent job when Charles staggered up drunk off his ass. He felt uneasy about Charles being so close to him drunk, but with Wade, he didn’t feel scared. He avoided eye contact and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but thankfully Charles didn’t even glance at him.

“What do you do when he’s out?” Wade asked once Charles left and Peter slowly let himself relax.

“Leaves me at home.”

“Got anyone there with ya?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably until fessing up, “No…”

“Do you have food?”

“I don’t know. It— it depends if Charles remembers to get me some? Usually, he kinda forgets about me,”

“He—”

“But it’s fine! I mean, I’ll live, he’s done it before. I know how to manage.” Peter didn’t technically lie. That was the worst part of Charles leaving. He didn’t have a lot of food in the first place, but with Charles gone, he had no money or resources for food at all. He shuddered at the memory of when Charles last left him for two weeks. By the end of those weeks he was just a shaky, weak mess on the floor, his stomach crying for food.

“It’s not fine, you have to eat.”

“I don’t eat much anyways,” Peter lamely attempted to reason with Charles’ logic. He knew logically that Charles should let him eat, but he also knew that under Charles’ roof he had to earn that food and lately he hasn’t earned anything. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong, but something kept Charles from feeding him, and although Peter didn’t particularly like Charles, he knew the man was smart deep down, and Peter probably deserved being punished, even if it meant going to bed in pain from hunger.

He then felt the shift in atmosphere as he looked at Wade who was now staring somewhere out in the bar, tense. Peter felt himself flinch back out of habit, his movement drawing Wade’s attention, which he, for once, did not want. He made Wade mad. Now he’d be punished.

 

Wade asked more questions about his living condition to which Peter responded in small answers. He didn’t know if it was his answers or his tone or the way he responded, but he was failing miserably at answering because Wade looked well, calm, but it was a controlled calm, and he was looking directly at Peter, and Peter felt cornered.

“I—'m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quietly and quickly, feeling helpless. His mind breaking under the extreme stress he was feeling, thinking if he apologized, Wade wouldn’t be angry anymore.

“For what?” Wade asked, in a blink, his stony glare turned confused, which in turn confused Peter and confused and frustrated him more.

“I don’t know… angering you?”

The tension in Wade’s body left as he held out his hands waving them in a “stop” motion,

“No no no, don’t be sorry Petey, I’m not angry at you. I’m beyond pissed that the man would leave you alone without basic human needs, but not at you, never at you,”

Peter didn’t stop tensing though, he didn’t fully believe Wade

He’s just being nice

“Do you have a phone?” Wade asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, but it’s a flip phone so I don’t use it that much. Why?’

“Cause I’m giving you my number,”

“What would I do with that?” Peter tested the waters although he reached into his pocket to retrieve it anyways and dumbly hand it over.

“Whatever you want with it. But ya know, it really comes in handy if people get hungry and need some food delivered,”

“... thanks?” Peter didn’t think he was hearing Wade right. He told himself not to use it to save Wade more trouble, that he could fend for himself. He wasn’t a baby that needed help. He told himself not to be a burden.

\-------------

It was dark outside when Peter woke up. He groaned but didn’t have the strength to get up from where he fell when he passed out, starvation hitting him again. He curled in on himself, hugging his old, raggedy stuffed animal closer to his chest, his only source of comfort through the past few years. 

 

_ Three weeks Charles was gone _

 

His stomach grumbled, screaming at him to eat something, but the half loaf of stale bread and an almost empty Peanut Butter jar, his only food source, was gone after he painstakingly drew it out for a week and a half. He could eat at school, but the food wasn’t enough.

 

_ Wade _

 

Peter had his phone out now, his stuffed animal held tightly in the crook of his arm, tracing the call button with his thumb absentmindedly staring at the screen light glowing with Wade’s number up, ready to call. Doubtful thoughts flooded his mind keeping him from pressing the button, but a particularly loud and painful growl in his stomach prompted him to press down.

 

“You’ve reached Wade Wilson, if you’re not a buyer, V, or the Chinese delivery man then you should probably hang up now.”

 

“Wade?” Peter’s voice trembled, sounding small over the phone.

 

“Hey! Petey! what’s up?” Wade asked lightheartedly, but Peter could have sworn he heard a hint of worry. Or maybe that was just his delusional mind playing tricks on him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry to bother you, but can you, uh… I’m…” Peter stumbled, squeezing his eyes shut to get his mind focused, “I’m going to take you up on that offer…”

“Sure thing! Anything my baby boy wants specifically?” Wade asked, using the stupid nickname he knew Peter hated. Peter didn’t even care right now, he was too hungry.

“Pizza... Pepperoni… please?” Peter responded quietly, salivating at the mere thought of warm, greasy food.

“Aw, even in time of need the boy has manners,” Wade joked, “I’ll be right there!”

Peter rambled off an address and within the hour Wade was at Peter’s door with the pizza in hand, but to Peter, it felt like eternity. He managed to gather enough strength and get water from the bathroom sink (since the kitchen water stopped working), and clumsily walk back into the living room, somehow catching himself on the wall as a wave of nausea rushed over him pushing him down. He turned himself so his back was against the wall as he slid down it, closing his eyes and breathing heavily, letting himself drift into a restless sleep. His mind floated somewhere else. Somewhere nicer where his Aunt May and Uncle Ben were alive, sitting at dinner and having warm, homecooked food. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a knocking, but it was faint.

“Do you want to get the door?” Aunt May looked at him, smiling.

He drew back to consciousness, a new pain settling above his pained stomach. A lonely ache in his chest for his aunt and uncle.

With the rest of his strength, he forced himself on his feet and held onto the doorknob for support as he opened it, almost crying when he could smell the pizza.

“One delivery for a Mr. Parker?”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on a card magic spree on youtube and decided suddenly that Wade knew magic. Enter: Warjack. The game that took forever to think of and made the plot slightly change 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, those are always lovely
> 
> Next Chapter: Peter gets food, learning more about his life, and the angst starts to happen


	3. The variable P was a child in need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said this chapter is going to be angsty, but it's pretty light compared to what I had in mind. Angst will come I promise that.  
> Also, small detail, but I changed Peter's age slightly. He's now 13 instead of 14. It'll make sense in future chapters
> 
> TW: This is subtle and more of an undertone, but I guess I'll add that there are hints to inappropriate behavior with an adult and a minor

He’s mulled the question over many times, and still, there was no answer to his question of what he did in his sorry life to have Wade part of his. As of now, Peter hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. Wade standing in front of him with Pizza in his hands was like a gift sent from God himself. 

Peter felt a wave of nausea hit him as Wade let himself in. In a white-knuckled grip, he held the handle of the door a little tighter, pulling the door closer to him as he leaned against it to steady himself, balancing out the opposing forces and hoping to ride the wave quickly so he could sit down and eat.

 _God_ , he was hungry.  

“I, too, like to keep doors and windows open to let the stuffy air out, but this place could get burnt to the ground and the air would still be thick, so I’d give up if I were you and eat the pizza,” Wade joked, motioning to the pizza, “or I’m going to eat it soon if you don’t.”

Peter took in a deep breath. He didn’t feel like walking, the room was spinning slightly, but he could make it. He let the door swing shut and took a step forward, feeling himself falling to the ground a moment later.

 

He came back to consciousness laid flat on his back and on the couch, pillow under his legs, and his teddy bear tucked snugly in the crook of his arm.

 

He blinked a couple times to steady his vision and turned his head to see Wade sitting in the chair adjacent to him and the box of pizza sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the smell, fainter now, but enough to cause a loud grumble in his stomach.

“What happened?” Peter croaked, his mouth dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke out loud. It’s been a couple of days.

“You fainted and I carried you to the couch.”

“I don’t eat much,” Peter admitted, running his hands over his face.

“When’s the last time you ate?"

“Today, at school.”

“When’s the last time you ate _here_.” 

“I… don’t remember…” Peter said, looking away. It’s been at least a week and a half. Maybe two weeks.

“Well!” Wade exclaimed, his voice making Peter wince at the loudness of it, “I don’t know if you could hear, but I could definitely hear the pizza calling out to you,”

“So eager to be literally chewed to death,” Peter remarked dryly.

 

As Peter sat up slowly, Wade opened the box. The intoxicating smell wafting out into the musty room.  

 

Peter grabbed the biggest piece and practically moaned into the bite, closing his eyes in content and falling back into the couch, letting the warm grease and cheese melt in his mouth, savoring how it tasted. 

 

“Good?” 

“Mhmmm,” Peter hummed, scarfing down the pizza, eyes still closed.

“Where do you get your water?”

“Hm?” Peter asked, still blissed out from the food.

 “The water. Sink doesn’t work,”

 “Bathroom,” Peter shrugged. He knew he needed to drink a lot of water, but the sink stopped working and the fridge had no water dispenser. Charles kept saying he’d replace it, but never got to it. So, he settled for the shower after which had a metallic taste, but after a while, Peter got used to it. It wasn’t too bad, at least he had a water source.  

 

Wade got Peter some water which was murky, but doable.

 

“So what’s the stuffed animal’s name?” Wade asked when the silence drew on.

Peter looked at the stuffed animal, although stuffed would be overstating the poor condition his animal was in. The fluff inside was all matted down and it flopped limply side to side when it was held.

“Lee,” He said simply.  
  
“Interesting,” Wade looked like he was going to continue his sentence.

“It’s great,” Peter said with no room for disagreement. It was great because his aunt named him after she gave it to him.

With the all the things Peter told Wade, he rarely shared his life with past foster families and never told about his family. His real family. It’s not because he didn’t want to but sharing with Wade brought up memories he tried so hard to push away. Bringing up his aunt and uncle were too painful, reminding him of how alone he really was.

 

No, he didn’t want to tell Wade because he, too, will eventually become part of those painful memories. Someone who was just a paragraph in his life and the thought hurt.

 

As Peter tried eating intrusive feelings down, he watched Wade look around the kitchen, looking through the drawers and fridge to find a bunch of shit that no man should be eating. Charles wasn’t exactly the healthiest and lived off beer and chips, but when he did go out shopping, he brought Peter with him and it felt like Christmas came early. He had good food for at least a couple weeks.  

 

“Doing homework on a Friday night?” Wade judged, picking up the forgotten homework on the kitchen table, looking at the scribbles around the paper edges.

“It’s not bad, I like it,” Peter mumbled, clearly focused on the food.

“Again, what did you have to eat?” Wade asked, opening the at the pungent, bad odor that hit him.

Peter almost felt embarrassed when Wade made a face like it was somehow his own fault that he couldn’t clean the fridge better. Like it was his fridge in the first place. He tried, multiple times, till Charles told him to drop it. There were still stains on the shelves and still absolutely nothing to eat no matter how much he opened and closed the door. 

He was about to point out that Wade didn’t ask a first time, but he let it slide, “Peanut Butter and Jelly. Some stale crackers, other… stuff” he responded casually. There was a hot sauce packet and he downed that. He didn’t even like hot sauce, but he’d sure as hell do it again. There was no intricacy here, he answered what he needed to and let it be.

 

Wade continued on about child abuse, his complaints becoming just muttering creative strings of insults under his breath. He continued around the house, Peter noting that he was observing everything, getting clues about the living space. He didn’t know how to feel about that, but so far he didn’t like the invasion of privacy. He saw Wade trail his fingers on the walls where there were dents from where glass bottles were thrown and shattered. The stain on the floor near the door brought up questions too.

 

“What happened here?” Wade asked. 

“Bloodstain.”

“I figured that, whose blood?”

“Some guy. Tried breaking in, Charles shot him.”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah,”

 

Peter remembered the day vividly. Surprisingly, it was a small bonding moment between him and Charles. It happened when Peter was still relatively new to the home. They were sitting in the living room, Charles sprawled out on the couch and Peter draped over the chair opposite watching some shitty movie that was on.

Then someone broke in and before Peter had any time to react, Charles had his gun pulled out and shot the man in the head without thinking twice.

Peter was in shock, but he did what Charles told him to. He filled a bucket out with hot water while Charles dumped the man somewhere.

That was when Charles taught him how to remove blood from the carpet and about the rules of the neighborhood. It wasn’t till later Peter was able to process what he just witnessed.

He’s seen people die on the sides of the road when walking too and from school, he's watched them get shot, but never up close.

He was concerned at how desensitized he was.

 

 

“Has he hurt you?” Wade asked immediately, stopping once he was presumably done investigating.

“No? No!” Peter responded defensively. He knew Wade was indicating abuse. Asking if Charles ever beat him. The man never laid a hand on him unless Peter did something wrong, and in that case, he knew he deserved to be punished. He deserved Charles yelling at him, slapping him hard enough to bring him to the ground. But he never beat him. Slapping and beating, those were different things, right?

 “I mean… he gets mad, and he yells and breaks a lot of things, but I’m not in the room…” _Usually_ , he didn’t add.

Wade looked cynical, vocalizing his concerns which only fueled frustration in Peter. Peter retaliated, only getting angrier when Wade questioned him more until Wade eventually backed down, but the look on his face told Peter he didn’t fully believe him.

 

 Charles, at the source, was a good man, and he knew that if he told Wade that Charles laid a hand on him, Wade would kill him, and he didn’t want that death on his hands. He already had two.  

The man’s outbursts always scared him. The couple times he was in the same room with an angry Charles, he pinned himself against the furthest wall he could, trying to be as small as possible and keep away from any stray beer bottle thrown and broken against the walls. 

He had a reason though. His wife, a nice enough lady Peter remembered from the few months he knew her, left him for another man. Peter was there, he sat outside on their front steps watching as her short dress ruffled in the wind as she got in a man’s front seat.

She told him to tell Charles she went out to get groceries, and that’s what Peter told Charles. Over and over whenever Charles asked with pleading eyes and sick with worry.

 

He wanted to tell the truth every time. Whenever Charles asked him like Peter had a different answer or forgot to mention something, whenever he’d drunkenly ramble on in the dead of night when they were in the living room, talking about how wonderful she was, whenever Peter walked passed Charles room and saw him praying to some higher being. He wanted to tell him, the guilt consuming him, but the fear of Charles’ anger if he found out he lied kept him quiet. 

 

The guilt only worsened when Charles got a call that his wife’s body was discovered dead in a field near a highway. Beaten, raped, and robbed.

 

Then Charles drank heavier, steeped into a dark, depressive state where he let everything go, neglecting himself and unintentionally bringing Peter down with him.

 

He’d take on more mercenary jobs, hunt down the people who killed his wife, leaving Peter alone at home a lot to fend for himself. Peter was only eleven then. 

 

The funeral is where he met Skip, Charles’ son. In his early 20’s or something, he came home from college for the funeral. He was nice; he kept Peter fed, talked to him, bought him things and took him out of the house when Charles was drunk. But the guilt and shame Peter saw when looking at Skip, knowing that he could have prevented the downfall of this family, almost killed him.

Skip was patient, but then he started saying things, doing things that made Peter uncomfortable. Unwanted stares turned to comments and those comments escalated into questionable touches.

Then Peter remembered the incident in the bathroom a couple nights before Skip left to go back to college. He was brushing his teeth when Skip walked in, walking right behind Peter into his personal space, and wrapped his arms around his abdomen, resting his head against Peter’s shoulder. Then he started rubbing his hands in small circles.

 _‘Playfully’_ Skip excused, kissing Peter on the temple before walking back out. Peter believed him. 

 

Peter still shuddered at the memory, a sick feeling in the gut of his stomach as the ghost of the touch still sending shivers down his spine and the guilt of the past rising up in his throat.

 

“Petey?” Wade broke his train of thought with a soft voice.

 

“I killed her,” Peter looked down, feeling equally ashamed and relieved. The secret he had to keep for months finally coming out into the open.

 

“Woah woah woah, I’ve got a little murderer on my hands,” Wade said, apologizing quickly after for the insensitivity.

  
“What do you mean?” Wade asked, more serious.

“Charles’ wife. I knew what she was doing. I could have prevented her from being killed.”

Peter replayed the story, rambling and spilling his guts on the situation, how he felt, how he should be blamed.

 “You didn’t kill her. She chose to leave, you couldn’t have stopped her.”  
  
“I could have told Charles. He could have found her,”

Wade continued to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Continued to tell him every path that could have led up to that, how nobody could have helped her and that he wasn’t involved in any of it. It helped him a little bit, but Peter still felt guilty. He may not have been the one to personally kill her, but he still felt like he was the first domino to create the fall.

 

Bogged down by the thought, he placed his half-eaten piece of pizza back into the box. To save for later.

 

\--

 

Peter was surprised Wade stayed. After he placed the pizza in the fridge, they both sat content on the couch. Peter on one end and Wade on the other, as always, respecting Peter’s boundaries.

 

They sat in silence for a while before Wade got up and snooped around through the movies in the small cabinet underneath the TV. Peter watched Wade as he sat cross-legged, throwing the movie boxes to the side unceremoniously until he found the Wii.

"Ya know Petey, as much as I love the holes you're burning in my back with your stare, you're giving Edward Cullen a run for his money," Wade spoke without turning his head.

"Twilight." Peter understood that reference, he thinks, not looking away.

"Oh, so you know the Twilight references but none of the good classic ones," This time Wade did turn around, looking at him with mock annoyance, "Gotta get you watching some good movies."

Peter only watched those movies because one of the girls in his past foster homes was obsessed with vampires. She tried to bite him once, but he was the one who got in trouble when he bit back.

"Says the man who referenced Twilight in the first place," Peter quipped back.

They continued their banter, judging each other on their movie preferences until Peter went silent again. The silence, on his end at least, felt heavy and awkward now. He wasn't used to having company and honestly, he didn't know what to do with Wade now that they weren't eating.

“Uh.. thanks again for the food, but you don’t have to stay if you don’t want.” 

“Aw, you kicking me out? I was having so much fun judging Charlie horse on his shitty movie choices.”

 “No! I just— if you have more important things right now. I don’t want to be the reason you’re missing out on things.”

“Nah, Vez is at work, off the job I’m always sitting around. I’m as free as a bird,” Wade made a wide circular gesture with his arms.

“Oh… okay.” Peter shifted anxiously.

 

They opted to play with the Wii, choosing Mariokart. It was an awful choice, really. For two competitive people, they got really into the game, yelling at each other as they knocked each other’s characters off Rainbow Road.

 

The awkwardness dissolved after that.

 

 -------

 

He found himself not wanting Wade to leave. He could envision himself dropping on his knees and pleading and begging Wade to stay, but he wouldn’t. He had enough pride to keep himself upright and enough guilty conscious knowing that Wade would stay, leaving his girlfriend alone. And Peter didn’t want to feel guilty about keeping Wade from his girlfriend longer than necessary.

 

“How do you feel if I take you back to my place? Meet Vee?” Wade offered as he shrugged his jacket onto his shoulders. 

“What?” Peter was in a food coma, he didn’t think he heard Wade correctly. No, he _knew_ he didn’t hear Wade correctly.

“I’m taking you back to my place,”

 “What if I say no?”

“Try me.”

 “No.” Peter tried. 

“Too bad, I can’t let you stay here by yourself,” Wade said matter of factly.

Peter scowled, of course he'd have to argue with Wade on this. “Well I can’t leave!”

“Well you can’t stay!”

“I… Charles would get mad if he came home and I wasn’t here,”

“Maybe Charles will die.”

“That’s not funny. He’s not that bad,” Peter defended Charles, meaning his words. “And… I’ve got pizza In the fridge…”

 

They continued pointless arguing, arguing the same point back and forth, getting nowhere. 

“I’ll stay here then,” Wade decided.

“What!” That was somehow ten times worse of an idea. 

“Well if you don’t want to come back to my place, then you leave me no choice but to stay.”

“What if Charles comes back and you’re here?”

“I’ll deal with him.”

“You’ll kill him.”

“Maim. I’ll _maim_ him. Done that plenty of times. Or I’ll sneak out a back window, done that lots of times too.”

 

Alarm bells went off in Peter's head as his paranoia crept in. Wade was a grown ass man, he wouldn’t be entertaining a kid for anything. He wouldn't invite some kid back to his place.

 

“What’s the catch?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes and verbalizing his suspicion.

“What?”

“Why are you being so nice to me.” It wasn't a question. 

“You’re worth being nice to.”

“Nobody’s nice to me without wanting something. What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything from you. Believe me, if I did, which I never would, but if I did want something I’d have it by now.”

Peter stayed silent.

“Listen, Petey. I’d never take you for granted or misuse you in any way, yeah? Scouts honor.”

 

Peter looked at Wade, studying the man's eyes trying to find any hint of lies, but he only found sincerity.

 

“Do you trust that I won’t hurt you?” Wade asked, his voice soft. 

He paused, thinking. Not because he had to think of the answer, but to think if it was smart to confess.

“...Yes.” 

“So you trust me enough to go back to my place?”

“No! I mean, Yes, I mean,” Peter took a deep breath in, “I trust you? But, I can’t go back with you.”

“But Charles—”

“Listen, if Charles tries anything, I’ll be there so he won’t hurt you. And if I’m not there, then I’ll make sure he pays if he does hurt you.”

“You’ll kill him," Peter felt defeated. 

Wade sighed, exasperated, “I can’t promise you anything about his outcome, but if you can tell me truthfully that you feel safe staying here by yourself then I’ll let you stay here. If not, you’re coming back with me.”

Peter took a deep breath and looked Wade in the eyes, glaring at him. He knew he was trapped, that telling Wade he felt safe was a bullshit lie.

Every night he’d curl up in his bed alone, to hear shouting outside and the freaks and groans of the house inside. Everything was so dark, he fell asleep every night in fear. He wanted the comfort that came with Wade. Then he felt guilty if he was using the older man even though Wade was offering. He really did like him but then he thought intrusive thoughts. Then there was Charles to deal with.

 --------

After failing miserably at lying (something Peter mentally told himself to start getting better at), he had his bag packed with an extra pair of clothes and his homework and made his way to Wade’s safe house.

 

The walk to the safe house was far and a little chilly, the November air softly blowing around them, seeping through Peter’s old hoodie. They passed a lot of sketchy looking figures, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes, homeless people. He stuck close to Wade, knowing Wade would protect him. Plus, being around someone tall and muscular helped ease the nerves too. He was scrawny, barely five feet, easy to pick on, but he didn’t feel as vulnerable as he usually felt.  

 

He was about to drop dead from exhaustion by the time they made it inside and into the little makeshift room.

 

Wade gave a quick tour of the place. And by quick, Peter meant that they stood in the doorway and Wade pointed to the total of three rooms in the small place. Bedroom? in front of them behind the door on the left. Bathroom? The door on the right. Living room? Already in it. Kitchen? Practically in the living room. Voila, and. They're. Done. 

 

“Where are you going to sleep?” Peter asked when Wade led him to the small double sized bed that almost filled the small bedroom. The window in the room was normal sized with tattered blinds, making the room feel even smaller.   

“I’ll be on the couch.”

“I…” Peter tried finding words. “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed! You’ve already done enough for me, I can sleep on the couch.”

 “Aww, cute, but the bed’s yours tonight and all the nights you’re here.”

 

_Nights. Plural._

 

 _  
_ “Nights. As in, Multiple nights.” 

“Till Charlie Brown comes back, yeah.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to be here? That’s kidnapping you know.”  
  
“Maybe that’s the plan,” Wade winked. It was a joke, but Peter couldn’t help bristle at the words, paranoia running back quickly. Maybe this was the storm after the calm, that Wade would announce he’s actually a child killer and Peter walked right into his grasp. If—

 

“I’m kidding! Bad joke, I’m sorry,” Wade raised his hands in defeat.

 Peter couldn’t relax, but he chuckled nervously, sliding his backpack to the ground slowly next to the bed.

“Anyways, I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” Wade mentioned as he closed the door.

 

He couldn’t fall asleep right away. He tossed and turned restlessly, waiting to see if Wade was going to walk in and try to kill him in his sleep. Luckily the apartment was small enough it wouldn’t take long to get to the door. Unluckily, Wade was faster and the distance was even shorter for him.

Thoughts ran through his head. Dark thoughts as usual when he was paranoid, halting along with his breath when he heard the door creak open and a stream of soft, yellow light entered the room.  
  
On his side curled up and facing the door, he closed his eyes and foze, pretending to be asleep even though his mind told him to run, wondering if this is where Wade was going to hurt him. 

The covers shifted slightly as a hand grabbed them near Peter’s hip, and Peter flinched oh so slightly. The movement caused Wade to halt, and Peter wondered if he was caught. He wanted to scream, the rising tension and worry bubbling up, he could feel Wade looking at him, looking for any signs of him awake. If Wade was going to do something, he wished he just did it.

 

But Wade didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything harmful at least.

 

Instead, he continued pulling the covers up around Peter’s shoulder, making sure he was warm.

 

“Night Petey,” Wade whispered, “sleep well.”

 

The door creaked closed as Peter was enveloped in darkness again, but he didn’t feel the darkness.

Still curled up in a ball, he pressed his face into the fabric bunched up in his fists, smiling uncontrollably into the blankets.

Since he was thrown into the Foster Care system, his life was shit. He felt abandoned, alone, and helpless. Nobody gave a shit about him all they wanted was the money that came with him. Almost all of them at least.

 But he knew they didn’t care about him. He was alone in the world, the strength his Aunt May told him to keep as a dying wish dwindled down as he grew up. He was always scared, always alert, always ready for someone to hurt him.

 

But Wade-- even though he was just his friend, even though they’ve only known each other for at most four months--  he felt okay. He felt safe.

 

 

That night, for the first time in five years, Peter fell asleep feeling safe, feeling secure, feeling cared for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment!


	4. With No Place to Call Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has kudos and commented on this story so far! I wouldn't have guessed I'd have over 80 kudos on just three chapters alone.. hope you enjoy this one!

**—Day 1: Saturday—  
** ****

**-Peter-  
** His mind woke up before his body did.

With a quiet groan he shifted to curl up on his side, but with a soft brush of his arm against even softer blankets, he jolted awake. As he sat waited for the dizziness to pass, he collected his thoughts remembering last night’s events that led him to wake up in a strange room in a strange bed.

Then he remembered, and he could relax again.

 He was at Wade’s safe house. It was a Saturday, and he was in no hurry. There were sounds of dishes clanking together that he could only guess was Wade making breakfast or something, but he didn’t want to get out of bed... yet.

He wondered what time it was. Golden yellow light seeped through the broken blinds on the window, peppering the wall in front of him in random patterns that artists would love to photograph to capture the beauty, giving the atmosphere a sublime feeling.

Fully conscious now and deciding it was still early, he grabbed his stuffed animal that was at the edge of the bed, close enough to fall off, and covered himself back up curling up with Lee close to his chest feeling the sheets slide across his body as he burrowed into them, gripping the worn cloth tightly and pressing his face into his fabric covered hands.

It was clean. The blanket, although a little thin, felt fresh instead of heavy and scratchy and uncomfortable.

He felt amazing, but at the same time, he felt exhausted like he could fall asleep again and sleep for years.

The smell is what made him open his eyes again. Therr was no moldy smell. A little musty, yes, but the smell that wafted up from under the door wasn’t cigarette smoke but something… really good. He wanted to stay in bed longer, but his stomach rumbling brought him unwillingly out of bed and towards the source of the smell.

He hesitated at the door, his hand barely grazing the doorknob.

 A memory of his past surfaced. One where, when he was younger, he’d wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs; he’d walk down the small stairs to see his Aunt cooking breakfast and his uncle at the table reading the newspaper. Or maybe both of them would be at the table in peaceful silence. They’d say good morning and Aunt May would kiss him on the forehead as she sent him off to school. He always hated forehead kisses, thought they were for babies, but he’d do anything to feel that love his Aunt felt for him.

A sudden ache in his chest painfully pulsed when he remembered those moments, like ghost hands grasping desperately at his heartstrings, clinging and begging not to be forgotten in the graveyard of memories that he buried himself.   

He took a deep breath in knowing he wouldn’t see his Aunt and Uncle and exhaled slowly forcing the memory away, releasing it into the empty room.  

The door opened with surprising ease as he stepped into the living room, freezing when he saw someone sitting on the couch who wasn’t Wade.

It was a woman. She had her back towards him as she lay horizontal on the couch, her back being supported by the armrest as she stared out the window, coffee in her hand.  

Before he could backtrack, she turned her head, the sun giving her dark hair a gold tint to it illuminating her features, making her look like a goddess.

 

Then she smiled.

 

It was a closed-mouth smile that made her eyes squint slightly as her expression turned from intimidating to inviting. He returned a small, quick smile back to be polite. Or, at least, he tried too. He felt himself grimace, making him visibly cringe.

Vanessa, he assumed. She fit the description Wade gave him. The last person he’d expect to see and probably a person the readers wished was Wade, but Wade was nowhere to be seen, and Peter didn’t feel comfortable being in the same room as a stranger.  

“Peter, right?” Her voice sounded nice. It wasn’t high pitched or too deep, but a nice mid tone, strong and confident.

Peter nodded before remembering his manners. “Yes. You’re Vanessa?”

“Yep.”

“Wade talked a lot about you.” Peter was torn between staring as usual or looking away because she was staring too, piercing dark eyes studying him, but her face was unreadable.

He didn’t like that.

He looked around the room nervously, spotting a coffee maker in the corner of the kitchen, the source of the smell.

“He’s talked a lot about you, too,” She replied, getting up and walking past him. “Do you want anything to drink? Eat?”

“Water, please.”  

He didn't know how much 'a lot' consisted of to her, but he wished Wade didn't talk about him 'a lot' to someone he didn't know personally, but he trusted Wade. Maybe he trusted him a little too much, but he let it slide. She was Wade's girlfriend, and if Wade trusted her, then he could at least try to be comfortable with her presence.

 

Peter stood, leaning against the door frame not knowing what to do. Vanessa was explaining where Wade was, but he wasn’t really listening. Instead, he couldn’t help compare this to every other time he’s changed homes. He woke up in a strange place with strange people, not knowing what to do, waiting for the rules to be laid out on what he can and can’t do…but this felt different, and it bugged him because he couldn’t pinpoint how.

 

She invited him to sit down with her at a small table just a little shorter in length than he was, water in hand.

“I’m not going to bite,” She looked arched her eyebrow, but her lip curling into a slight, playful smirk suggested that she was, in fact, not going to bite even though she looked like she could.

Peter sat down and thanked her for the glass of water. It was clear. It didn’t have a taste, and that alone was almost as amazing as the pizza did last night. It was fresh, the cold liquid easing his dry throat.

\--

Peter didn't know what to make of Vanessa. He didn't like her asking questions about his life no matter how respectful she was about asking, but he answered them regardless because he didn't want to be rude, albeit in very short answers. He also noted how she answered any questions he had about her without seeming annoyed or cross. It was unnerving almost, he felt like she had something up her sleeve, ready to turn on him.

A while later Wade walked in carrying a couple grocery bags, already talking as soon as he walked in the door and proceeded to make pancakes topped with "Real Canadian Maple Syrup".

The pancakes were hands down, delicious. Each bite soft and the right amount of sweet Peter decided as he silently sat, enjoying listening to Wade and Vanessa quip together.  She was almost just funny and super quick with her comebacks, giving Wade a run for his money. Their relationship was cute, Peter had to admit. He almost forgot what a functioning relationship looked like.

Like Wade, she emitted a kind and caring vibe towards him weirding him out a bit since she had no reason to be so nice towards him. But he was trying to be comfortable around her, so he reciprocated her kindness with his own politeness, allowing himself to live in the moment and mull over his conflicting emotions later.

She reminded him of Aunt May a bit. She and Aunt May would get along. He swallowed the sad feeling with a syrup-coated bite of pancake and made himself push past those feelings. He was successful.

He sat, deciding that he had to be dreaming. The pizza must have put him in a food coma and he was actually still at Charles’ place passed out in his own bed.

But he was having fun and the food was amazing, so he wasn’t complaining, relishing in the dream a bit longer, waiting to wake up, but he never did. And honestly, if this was a dream, he didn’t want to.

It’s been years since he’s woken up feeling this good.

\---

Peter spent the day with Wade, going around in Vanessa’s car and picking up important things like some clothes from Charles’ house and some extra clothes and blankets from Wade’s apartment. Buying the blow-up mattress from the store kind of ruined Peter’s mood. He felt bad enough taking the bed for one night and now he was making Wade sleep on a blowup bed. He felt even worse when he found out Vanessa was staying over and was going to use the blow-up mattress while Wade slept on the couch.  

Despite his protests claiming that he could sleep in the living room, Wade and Vanessa both told him he was going to sleep in the bed. There was no room for discussion on that one.

Grateful yet guilty, he fell asleep that night feeling well fed.

 

**—Day 2: Sunday—**

He slept in, once again thinking it was a dream, a long dream that consisted of three good meals and people who actually wanted to talk to him. It wa a little overwhelming at time if he was honest. Going three weeks straight without talking to anybody, not even people at school, and then suddenly having two people want to talk to him willingly was a complete 180 of his life. He didn’t know how to carry on a conversation, not wanting to bore them with nonsense, so they carried the conversation. Well, Wade did. Vanessa could, but like him, she ran out of conversation too, but didn’t seem awkward or put out by it. 

He still felt really guilty that he had a bed while the adults slept out in the living room, but the feeling disintegrated quickly about thirty minutes later when eggs and hashbrowns were being served in front of him. 

\--

That night, due to Wade’s request, they sat down and watched movies to educate Peter on pop culture references. 

He watched plenty of TV and movies with Charles, that was kind of their thing, but he always felt a clear divide, a distance that neither of them tried to fill. At first, Peter wished Charles would talk to him, but time after time of starting a conversation, Charles quickly showed to be awful at small talk, so they settled into quietness, minding their own business.

Peter didn't mind the quietness, he enjoyed watching movies in silence, but he always felt like he was watching the movie alone despite an adult sitting and drinking beer in a recliner no more than six feet away from his spot on the couch.

There was a noticeable gap between Wade and him partly due to Peter not wanting to invade Wade’s personal space and partly because he didn't want to embarrass himself if Wade pushed him away, given that the man didn't seem very touchy himself, but that was fine, he was just happy to be in the same room.

 They were watching The Princess Bride, and Peter had to admit that Charles did look like Inigo Montoya if Inigo had short hair that was tied back into a man-bun and shaved the sides of his head.  

The facial structure and skin tone was almost perfect though. Charles was a little darker and his skin drier, but if Peter passed them in public briefly, he wouldn't have known the difference between the two.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he was in bed under the covers with his stuffed animal next to him.

 

**—Day 3: Monday—**

**-Wade-**

Wade was at Sister Margaret’s _only_ because Weasel rang him for a job. The only reason why he _took_ the job was that it was an easy job apparently, one that would only take a night. And also because he had a dilemma.

He never actually thought he’d get a useful answer from Weas, but it was someone to vent too. Venting to Vanessa only came with reasonable answers, and right now he needed to figure himself out first.

“Wait. So you took the kid home with you.” Weasel summarized Wade’s story in his annoyingly monotone voice.

“Yes, and now I have a kid that I don’t know what the fuck to do with.” Wade knew plans never turn out the way he imagines them to go. He knew he wanted to take Peter away from Westcott’s place. He knew he wanted to keep Peter safe, but he didn’t know what to do past that. He adored the kid, but realistically he knew he couldn’t keep him- that Westcott would want him back, or not, which would have been fine if Peter wasn’t part of the foster care system. He knew that they couldn’t live in his safe house forever, that he’d have to watch Peter leave eventually whether it be back to Charles or if the system takes him back.

“Tell him to go back home,” Weasel’s useless suggestion cut through his thoughts.

“He’s just a kid fucknut were you not listening when I said that I took him because I didn’t want him there alone? That’s like Timon and Pumbaa telling baby Simba to go home after a week of teaching him how to eat bugs.”

“Where is he now?”

“At school. I got to pick him up from his place after school so I can take him back to the safe house.”

“Ah, that’s why you have Vanessa’s car,” Weasel looked outside at Vanessa’s old car in a shitty parallel parking position.

“Why don’t you make him walk there by himself.” It wasn’t a question. Everything Weasel asked never came out in an actually questioning tone, only statements.

“Not safe.”

“So you don’t know what to do with the kid, but you won’t take him back till Westcott comes back.”

“Maybe not even then.”

“Isn’t that considered kidnapping.”

“By textbook term yes, but who here reads a textbook?” Wade scoffed to himself.

“ _You_ when you’re ass is in prison because Westcott called the police on your ass,” Weasel responded dryly, seemingly unamused, but Wade knew him long enough to know that the emphasis in ‘you’ was just enough to indicate that Weasel was amused.

“Whatcha gonna do when he goes somewhere else?” Weasel directed the conversation back on course.

“Don’t know.”

“You know he’s gonna just end up somewhere else.”

“No shit.”

“Have you thought of taking him in?”

 Wade scoffed at that, “Fuck no. Peter deserves everything, not the shit my fucked up life comes with.”

“He’s already living with a mercenary.”

Wade didn’t have an answer for that. 

“Listen, if you want my advice,”

“Which I don’t,” Wade cut in, but Weasel continued anyways.

“What I do when I don’t know what to do with a person is just drop off the earth. Ignore them. Pretend they don’t exist, and if they angrily come to your door and demand an answer, call the cops on them and get a restraining order on them and move states.”

“You’re fucking useless, you know that right?” Wade asked with no real judgment in his voice, just annoyance.

“If only I got a dollar each time I was told that… I could probably buy the Avenger’s tower and pay them to leave the city.”

Wade did think of fostering Peter as his own, but he didn’t think he was good enough.

No, he knew he wasn’t good enough or smart enough or worthy enough of taking care of Peter or any child long term. All he was was a killer because that was the only thing he was good at. Killing, and creating disasters.

And Peter was so smart. Doing homework at the kitchen table while he and Vanessa could only look at the homework assignments and make sarcastic jokes. At least Vanessa graduated high school, he didn’t even make it to tenth grade. The kid deserved parents who could talk to him about sciencey stuff, help him with homework if he needed it (which he probably didn’t need help), and just a normal life in general. He needed good role models, and Wade was not one of those.

For fuck's sake, Peter’s been with them less than three days and all he taught him was how to play poker, blackjack, how to lie, how to clean guns safely, magic tricks and ASL. Aside from ASL, everything was not child-friendly. He may also have seen a slow increase in the kid’s curse word vocabulary, but that was harmless so he wouldn’t count that.

Wade knew he wasn’t good enough or smart or worthy enough to be Peter’s guardian, but a part of him knew he would try to straighten himself up as best as a mercenary could if Peter could be part of his life for a little bit longer.

 

**-Peter-**

Wade was supposed to be back. He left around five saying the job was just a quick run, shouldn’t take more than four hours max, but it’s been six hours, running on seven, and he hadn’t called or texted either Vanessa or him. He wasn’t as uncomfortable around Vanessa as he was on day one, but he still couldn’t carry a conversation with her very well. She didn’t ignore him, but they were both lost in thought, worried about Wade. He didn’t want to burden her with his presence, so he decided to call it a day and worry alone in the bedroom, letting Vanessa do whatever she wanted in the living room in private.  

 

**—Day 4: Tuesday—**

He really did feel like a lost dog, perking up at every noise that sounded like footsteps in the hall, waiting to see if the door opened or not. Wade was still MIA and Peter was left here with Vanessa, well, she was gone also, but she would come back… he hoped. He doubted she’d go off in a truck with a mystery man and ditch Wade.

She dropped Peter off at the safe house after school, going straight from there to her day job, leaving Peter alone on the couch cuddling with his stuffed animal watching some Cartoon Network show. Pretty much what he’d be doing if he was at Charles’ home, just a different couch and living room with people who actually came back and interacted with him.

He perked up with anticipation when he heard the front door open, only to slouch when Vanessa opened the bedroom door, standing in the doorway, not walking in.

“Has Wade come back yet?” She asked.

Peter shook his head, watching Vanessa screw her mouth shut, looking over her shoulder at a clock. They didn’t say it, but they both knew he should have been back already.

“Is he usually late?” Peter dared himself to ask.

“One of the first lessons I learned when we first started dating was that he could be gone for weeks on end because of his jobs,” She responded nonchalantly, hiding her worry. What she learned early was being worried was part of the package to having a mercenary as a significant other. She was worried a lot but tried not to be. She’s had a year and a half to learn not to stress as much, to make herself believe that he’ll come home. And he did, he was good at his job she had to believe.

But Peter was young, and he still needed that comfort, “It’s going to be okay, he sometimes goes longer than planned, but he always comes back,” she added.

“Oh...” Peter wasn’t convinced. She stood at the kitchen counter looking like she was looking for something to do.

Remembering where he was, Peter apologized and started to sit up to leave the room so he wasn’t in Vanessa’s way, but she told him he could stay. He awkwardly sat down as she stood in the kitchen looking at nothing, so he changed the channel so she didn’t have to at least listen to stupid cartoon jokes. He landed on the news since he guessed that was something adults actually liked watching, and saw some news reporter talking about Tony Stark building some machine that people thought were more suits and strange, unexplainable cosmic forces. 

“It’s a miracle New York is still standing with the Avengers living here,” Vanessa murmured, displeased.

 Peter nodded, there was a lot of collateral damage with them but had to admit he always admired them. Especially Tony Stark. Even from a young age, before he came out as Iron Man, he was always fascinated with his works, and then when he publicly announced he was Iron Man, his admiration only grew despite all the public pressure that was placed on him. Then Iron Man saved him when he was nine. The year his aunt couldn’t take care of him anymore. That was almost five years ago.

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” Vanessa asked out of the blue.

“No…?”

“Do you want to know how?”

“Sure...” Peter was unsure, but he went with it, not wanting to disappoint her or seem rude.

 And that’s how Peter spent the rest of his night. Wade taught him a lot, but Vanessa had her own wisdom to share. As Wade taught him how to steal, Vanessa gave him tips on how to store. Wade taught him how to break down a door, she taught him how to pick a lock with bobby pins, paper clips, etc.

 

When she was about to go to her night job and Peter was getting ready for bed, Peter forced himself to ask how she knew those things.

“I was a foster kid too.” Was her simple reply.

“Oh.” Peter didn’t know how to respond to that. “I’m… sorry?”

“How… how long? Sorry, if that’s too personal,” He said.

She closed her eyes and chuckled, looking down before looking back at him and answering. “I went into foster care when I was eleven. I grew out of it. Nobody wanted to adopt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, looking down at himself.

 A big part of him _was_ sorry that she had to go through her teen years being moved home to home. That was his own fear. After four foster homes, he didn’t think he’d ever get adopted. There was always something wrong with him.

“Eh it’s okay, that was a long time ago,” She shrugged it off, “but I want to help you.”

  
They talked about the foster system some. Vanessa shared some of her stories that she claimed were some of the “lighter ones” that Peter found himself being able to relate too. Things like angry foster parents or nights without food and water, homes that didn’t have good A/C or places where there were other kids that were clearly prefered over them were only a few out of many relatable stories.

It was a bonding moment for them, and as much as Peter felt sad that someone like Vanessa had to go through some shitty times, a part of him couldn’t help but feel relieved that she did. He felt immediately guilty that he was glad someone so kind had to go through similar shit he did, but it felt nice to talk about his problems and have someone relate to him. He didn’t feel so alone.

 

 

**—Day 5: Wednesday—**

The feeling of caring about someone till he felt sick was foreign to him, but Peter felt it when Wade still wasn’t back when he woke up. He’s always cared about people in the sense that he didn’t want to hurt anyone or see anyone gets hurt, but this stemmed deeper than that.

He felt like he’d grieve if something happened to Wade. Feel something deeper than second-hand sympathy.

School was even more hellish than usual. Every noise, every annoying sound someone made, made him grit his teeth to keep himself from yelling at them to shut the fuck up.

He managed to make it throughout the day without texting Wade, deciding to stay at Charles house after school to clean the place to keep him busy. He shot Vanessa a text telling her his plan as they both decided that Peter would text her when he wanted to be picked up if he wasn't done by seven. 

Speaking of Charles, he didn’t even know where he was. Charles was the person he felt like he should be worried about. Which he was, to an extent. The man’s been gone for almost a month without a word, but this past week Peter’s been too busy being content to really care. He really should text Charles to see where he is… but he didn’t.

 ---

The cleaning helped calm his nerves a little. He may have thrown an empty, found bottle against the wall out of stress, but it was _okay_. Charles did it, and the man probably wouldn’t even realize the small dent in the wall when there were bigger ones scattered around anyways. The only problem was when he cut himself cleaning up the glass by hand. It wasn’t the smartest decision he made, but he was stressed, and he found the pain oddly relieving. The blood that appeared as a small sliver in the cut started to get darker and started trickling down his hand. It was mesmerizing, watching the blood drip and move when he tilted his hand in different directions, but then he snapped back to the present, knowing logically he should stop the blood.  

For living with a mercenary, Charles didn’t have any medical supplies that looked up to date or even clean to use. He really didn't want to call Vanessa and burden her with picking him up, but the blood flow wasn't stopping so he bent and called Vanessa asking for her to pick him up.    

 ---

He didn’t think a shallow cut on his palm would have produced so much blood, but the small kitchen rag he found in Charles’ kitchen was now almost covered in blood by the time they got back to the safe house. Without having to think about letting Vanessa touch his skin, he held out his hand for Vanessa patch up his palm, hissing at the pain as the alcohol pad touched his skin as she cleaned him up. She was gentle with him, not touching him more than she had too. He appreciated that.

  
What he didn’t appreciate was her asking if he cut himself on purpose. He didn’t know why she’d ask him that since it was clearly an accident. He couldn’t even think why he’d actually cut himself, but Vanessa only let up after he was clearly frustrated that she wasn’t believing him. She still looked wary, but didn’t say anything more.  

\--

  
Vanessa was wrapping his hand in gauze when Wade walked in. The man looked tired, but very alive. He had a bandage on his arm, but other than that he looked well.

“Wade!” Peter exclaimed, blushing at the exclamation. He held onto the kitchen table to keep from jumping up and embarrassingly throw himself forward and hug the man.

Both he and Vanessa let out a breath the didn’t know they were holding, relieved he was home.

 “Petey!” Wade exclaimed, flashing him a smile. “Sorry I was gone so long, motherfucker I was after had a few friends I didn’t know about, got jumped. Had to hunt them down which took longer than I expected. All’s good though, they’re dead now.”

“You didn’t text us that you were gonna be gone longer than that,” Vanessa said flatly, and Peter tensed, wondering if he was about to experience a fight. God, he hoped not.

“My phone got broken,” Wade said, but stood where he was. A safe distance from the kitchen table.

She arched an eyebrow.

Peter shrunk back, getting ready to watch the illusion dissipate and watch them start yelling and screaming and hitting each other. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched them have a staring contest, thinking he was going to watch a murder happen, but they ended up breaking into smiles. Vanessa caved first, threats leaving her lips, but a smile and a mischievous glint in Wade’s eyes prompted Vanessa to walk forward and hugged him as they shared a kiss.

He didn’t really know what he just witnessed, but he was content with the result. They weren’t angry, they were happy. And he was happy that Wade was safe. And he felt his heart flutter when Wade said he missed Peter too and apologized.

\--

That night, they decided to go out to eat. They went to a small diner, ordered burgers, fries, and milkshakes.

It’s been years since Peter had a milkshake, but he didn’t want Wade to spend any money on him, so he tried getting the cheapest thing on the menu, already knowing it wasn’t going to be filling enough. 

Wade and Vanessa offered some of their fries to him, which he accepted once they were practically pushed onto his plate. That was the night he also discovered how wonderfully tasting the combination between salty fries and a vanilla milkshake tasted.

 

 **—Day 6: Thursday—**  

Wade took him into the city that afternoon. They bought some NY pizza, Wade took him to see his apartment in the city, and now they were here, on a building already fourteen stories up, but the last five had to be climbed by a ladder.

Peter wasn’t scared of heights, but he was scared of falling, but he also didn’t want Wade to think he was a baby, so he climbed the ladder, and was glad he did.

The Skyline was beautiful.

He’s seen plenty of photos, but being up here on a roof overlooking the city was beyond words. The sounds of the streets below him barely registered up here. It wasn’t quiet, but it was muted, and that made the world so surreal. 

“Come over here,” Wade motioned towards the edge, already dangerously close.

“What if I fall?” Peter bit his lip, not meaning to sound timid.

“Then I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Wade comforted.

He walked, feeling a rush of fear and adrenaline, but also excitement and nervousness.

He felt on top of the world, looking down at the New York streets, being able to see above instead of walking blindly through the crowds. But he felt small, the even bigger skyscrapers towering over where they were. The setting sun reflected in reds and oranges on the glass buildings, giving a surreal, kaleidoscope effect where the sky looked warped in its reflections.

He felt powerful but fragile. He could do anything and nothing at once. He was at the mercy of the surroundings, at the mercy of Wade, but he didn’t feel powerless, he felt free. Freer than he ever felt before in his life. Nobody could get him up here.

“It’s pretty here, but you should see Shanghai at nighttime,” Wade said behind him.

 

\--

 

They sat down against the far wall watching the sun go down, enjoying the moment in quiet peace. Peter sat close to Wade, comfortable enough with him that he didn’t flinch or feel uncomfortable with the closeness.

In fact, he felt himself yearning for it day by day. The warmth, the energy Wade radiated, it was familiar. The dark shadows didn’t seem so scary when Wade was there. The man filled the silence and emitted warmth and security even if he wasn’t talking. Two things Peter lacked and desperately yearned for.

Watching the sky turn a burning, beautiful orange to a sobering dark blue, he found it easy to get lost in thought.

It was the best week of his life it seemed. And most educational. He enjoyed living with Wade and Vanessa, and he was scared of that.

He looked up at Wade who still stared out in space, unable to comprehend him.

Being so close to Wade-- not just right now but during the whole week-- Peter felt the same way he felt when he was at a lake years ago. To him, Wade felt like a lake at night. Peter remembered the feeling of peace when one of his previous foster family took him to a lake house. He remembered sneaking out with one of the older kids and standing near the water's edge, looking out across the water, pitch black with white highlights from the cloud covered moon. The lake was deep. It's black waters still and ominous. There was no humidity or wind, intensifying every noise that surrounded them. The older kid felt nervous, standing back, but Peter remembered walking into the cold water, letting his bare feet stand on the moss covered rocks, balancing dangerously, but he didn't walk forward in fear of drowning.

Wade was like that. He was either peaceful or scary depending on the person who dared to stand long enough and take in the lake's surroundings. To Peter, he felt the same kind of peace he did that night, but in this case, he would walk further. He was already knee deep and he'd keep walking into the depths of the lake that welcomed him. He wasn't scared because he knew if he walked forwards, he wouldn't drown, because the lake wouldn't let him.

And Vanessa… it hurt him a little that Vanessa was like his aunt. She had similar vibes. She was strong, witty, independent… she didn’t treat him any differently. She didn’t throw a pity party for him or treat him like a charity case or a lost cause or a stray. She was caring and gentle… she fed him in the mornings when she was here. She didn’t ignore him or pretend to like him because Wade was there. No, with Wade gone for two and a half days he realized that she really did care about him to an extent. That, or she was a very good actor.

He felt like he was betraying his aunt, he wasn’t ready to replace her. He hadn’t even brought himself to say goodbye. Not really.

He liked how they didn’t undermine him, Wade did give him the stupid nicknames like “Kid” or the occasional mocking “Baby boy”, since he was just a kid out of the whole bar, but he or Vanessa never treated Peter as “just a kid”, or a baby, but a human being with thoughts and opinions and feelings. They didn’t treat him like a foster kid, just a child in need of friends and someone to care for him.

But he wouldn’t keep it, and he didn’t want to be too attached, but he was. And he knew it would just be ripped away by something. Like the person who killed his parents, or the person who took his uncle away from him, or the cancer that stole Aunt May.

Then he realized he never thanked Wade for all he’s done. Never really thanked him at least, for all he’s done.

He gave him a sense of security, fed him, talked to him…

“Thank you,” Peter said silently.

“For what?”

“Everything?”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.”

He did though, he really, _really_ did.

But Peter couldn’t put it into words. He didn’t know how too. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by fucking up his sentences or come across as too mushy or emotional. Wade wasn’t mushy and he didn’t seem too emotional, which is why he held off hugging him. Vanessa did and Wade reacted well to that, but Vanessa was his girlfriend, that was different. So he just leaned back against the brick wall, letting his head fall back and hit the rough texture, taking as much sensation as he could. It would do for now. 

 

**—Day 7: Friday—**

From the school bus, he walked back to Charles' house as usual, but as he stood in the front lawn about to text Wade he was there, the door opened making Peter jump and spin around expecting to see an angry Charles, but instead Skip stood there.

Still tense, they made eye contact resulting in Skip laughing. "What? Didn't expect me or something?"

Peter shook his head, he couldn't think why Skip would even be home. A part of him felt uneasy, but he grabbed the straps of his backpack and stood, watching Skip warily.

"Are you going to come in?" Skip asked, a smile still on his lips as he opened the door wider, making room for Peter to walk by.

Peter faltered, holding his phone in his hand with the text already halfway written. He looked at Skip and the living room behind him, dark even with the lights on. Looking down at the already half written text, he was tempted to press send but moved his thumb and pressed delete instead.

If Wade did pick him up, then Skip would know Peter was living with someone else and would probably tell on him resulting only trouble for both him and Wade. He didn't want to get Wade in trouble.

He wasn't expecting Skip, but now that he was here, that meant he’d have to stay here, back to his life. His own reality.

He knew he couldn't stay with Wade and Vanessa forever. As much as he loved living with them and forget that Charles existed, he understood that realistically he'd have to return back to the lonely house at some point. He couldn't say he was surprised, but he could say he was disappointed. Actually, disappointed was an understatement to how he was feeling.  
  
With his head down, he walked up the small cement stairs into the door, Skip closing it behind him, sealing his fate.

He didn’t see Skip eyeing him up and down hungrily. He couldn’t have known what was going through Skip’s mind at that moment— love, lust, anger... revenge...— if he did, Peter would have been out the door running like a bat out of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Billy didn’t at that instant feel the world tilt under him, but it did. The plunge had not yet begun, but it would. Soon" -Dean Koontz  
> Thought that this quote would be a nice way to end the chapter, it appropriately fits what is about to happen. 
> 
>  
> 
> I really wish I could post more efficiently or at least give a "post every Friday" kind of deal, but school is already crazy and I don't have much time to write. With that said I do have three "shorter" chapters after this ready for publishing so I may be posting those three this week or maybe one every week?


	5. He'd Drift Through The Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter spends time with Skip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH I hate how it took over two months for this chapter to be published, but I'll go into those reasons at the end. Hope you enjoy this!
> 
> TW: subtle undertones of inappropriate touching, alcohol usage
> 
> Tell me if you think I should add anything

The thing about dangerous situations is that you never are fully aware of the danger until it’s too late. There may be paranoia that you try to pass off as silly or a stomach sinking feeling that you blame on school stress or bad food.

Peter, for instance, didn’t feel like he was in danger when Skip walked towards him, only cornered, which was silly since he was standing in the middle of the room.

He didn’t have any alarms go off in his head when Skip opened his arms out for a hug, just a sense of heart-stopping anxiousness, but the inability to breathe was probably just because of the cologne the man was wearing.

And the affection.  

The uncomfortable feeling of being pulled against a body was normal, he didn’t like being touched in general, and the discomfort totally wasn’t from the sudden flashback of the time they were in the bathroom, the memory leaving just a sense of cold nothingness.

But he wasn’t in danger. He was sure of that. No, all the negative feelings he felt was all because he created those feelings in his head.

Skip liked to hug people. Peter watched the man hug dozens of people at the funeral, so it wasn’t out of character, and it wasn’t Skip’s fault that Peter didn’t like being hugged now.

 

It was Peter’s.

 

It was Peter’s problem when he always got uncomfortable when someone he didn’t know touched him. And even though he didn’t know Skip that well he knew him enough and that alone made him tell himself that he wouldn’t shy away.

He tried not to flinch when Skip wrapped his arms around him, tried not to squirm when he was held close to Skip’s chest, tried to enjoy the slow circles Skip was rubbing into back despite hating every second, and stiffening when Skip’s hand started lowering down his back. He pushed away with pins and needles feeling where Skip’s hands were, embarrassed as he stumbled back and looked up, not necessarily at Skip’s face, but somewhere in that direction.

Something in his mind told him that was wrong, but he couldn’t trust his mind, because any kind of touch to him was wrong, and it was just his paranoia that Skip was hurting him. Right?

 

“What?” Skip asked, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow looking genuinely confused.

“I-it’s nothing,” Peter shook his head, still feeling the hands sliding downwards. It was probably accidental, or it was a standard gesture, and he just wasn’t used to close contact and was just making a big deal out of it.

“Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t get offended,” Skip offered him a smile, but crossing his arms across his chest as well.

 Peter glanced at Skip, studying the man’s expression for any sign of anger or deceit. There was none, but still, Peter lied with the classic ‘tired’ excuse.  

“You’re a terrible liar, you know?” Skip chuckled but backed up a bit anyway. “But hey, I get it. If you don’t want to talk to me it’s fine, we haven’t really talked in a while.”

“Yeah…”

“I really want to get to know you though.”

“That’s… nice I guess.” Peter didn’t know how else to respond, he was too busy ignoring the ghost touch on his lower back and instead staring at Skip’s newly dyed platinum blond hair. Personally, Peter thought it looked awful, but what did he know. He wasn’t a hairstylist, but as a respective person who had passable vision, the hair with Skip’s pale skin tone was definitely not helping his eyesight. He couldn’t dwell on the hair too much though, he had more important things to do, like telling Wade not to show up, or else there’d be a whole other issue at hand.

 

\---

Outside, Peter was in the mud hole of a backyard sitting against the old, rusted chain link fence that surrounded the perimeter so he could keep watch of the house and its inhabitants.

Cross-legged, he shook his leg and bit his lip anxiously as he tried figuring out the words to tell Wade not to pick him up. For a simple problem, he found it way too difficult to find a solution. Writing and deleting word after word, Peter finally settled on a simple, vague message saying how he wouldn’t need to go back. Clicking send, he looked back at the house with it’s cracked foundation and shitty windows, anxiously waiting for a reply. The muffled noise from the TV could be heard from the window that Skip cracked open, and once in a while, a whiff of something delicious would travel over in Peter's direction. The sky was already graduating into the reds and oranges of the afternoon, thanks to winter weather,  meaning that Peter would just be stuck in the house for longer bits of time. If Skip kept him on the strict daylight rule that Charles did. He wouldn't mention that little rule to Skip though.

Not a minute passed when his phone rang, and a sense of dread passed over him. It was Wade, and a vocal conversation was the last thing he wanted right now, but he still answered it. 

Before Peter could even say something, Wade as already talking. “Where are you? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Wade’s voice sounded even, but his back to back questions were hurried enough to sound concerned.

“I’m at the house. I’m just uh… not coming back…”   Peter looked down at the ground playing with the strands of whatever grass was left in the mud hole of the yard.    

“Do I need to beat someone back to hell?”

“No? It’s Skip. Remember, Charles’ son?”

“If I’m really honest Petey, which I am, most of the time, not really. Have you even mentioned him?” 

“Yeah…” Peter squinted his eyes as he tried thinking back, he was pretty sure he talked about Skip.

“So! When can I meet him?”

“Never.”

“Why? I’m already halfway there.”

“Cause I don’t want you too, and I told you not to come over.”

“Given how you feel about good ol’ Charlie, you’re not exactly the best reference.”

“Charles isn’t—”

“He left you alone for three weeks without food and basic needs.”

_Okay, fair point._

“You don’t know Skip though. He’s—”

“Well, today’s a good day to get to know him. Nice day, birds chirpin’… I’m not busy.”

Ignoring the fact that it was overcast and almost dark and no birds were chirping, he almost growled in aggravation for being interrupted and ignored, but he took a deep breath in to calm his nerves, “There’s nothing wrong with him! Not with Charles either you’re just mean,” Peter bit out, mumbling the last words and cringing at how childish he was sounding. He didn’t even know why he was trying to defend Charles so much, the man wasn’t even that great of a person. Maybe it was because Charles was the underdog in the situation and someone had to defend him while he was gone.

“Listen, Petey,” Wade’s voice was slower and sounding a little tense, “I can see you trying to find the good in Westcott, but he’s a piece of shit. I just want to meet the son.”

“He’s—” Peter sighed, knowing there was no way to convince Wade that Charles and Skip weren’t bad. “Why do you want to meet him so badly?”

“Just to get an idea of the kind of person he is. Why don’t you want me to see him so badly?” Wade shot an answer back, but Peter couldn’t say he was surprised. He suspected he’d have to answer that question as soon as he asked his own.

Honestly, it was because he didn’t want Wade to cause a scene. He was worried Wade would say something wrong or accuse Skip of the shit Charles did, or threaten him. It seemed like something Wade would do. Besides, it wasn’t Skip’s fault that Charles left him alone or that he wasn’t getting ‘basic needs’ met. Skip had nothing to do with Peter’s living condition, and a part of him knew Wade would get on Skip for something that wasn’t his fault. A part of him was also scared that Skip would tell Charles that Wade took him in and Charles would get angry. And Peter told Wade exactly that.

Well, technically Charles didn’t say anything about going to other people’s houses, but he assumed it went along the lines of ‘don’t leave the house except for school’ rule. He didn’t really want to get slapped or any kind of punishment from Charles, but imagining Charles taking his anger out on Wade was even worse in his mind because that would definitely end up in one or both men dead, and the last thing he wanted was another death on his conscious.

 

“Listen, Peter,” Wade’s tone went serious. The voice that made Peter fidget because it was so… not Wade. It wasn’t the boisterous, nonchalant loud mouth that he was used to. “I know how to take care of myself, you don’t have to worry about me, and I would never put you in any kind of danger, and I wouldn’t say anything that would give away anything you wouldn’t want shared. Besides, you do know my job status, right? Lying is like, my number three profession!”

No matter how much Wade said he wouldn’t cause a scene, Peter didn’t trust him to keep his word. Many scenarios of Skip and Wade meeting flashed through Peter’s mind, and none of those scenes ended well. Even if Wade didn’t cause a scene, he knew that Wade was a sarcastic asshole to a lot of people and more so if he had an issue with something, and he sometimes directed that onto the wrong people.

 

As Peter stood his ground, the aggravation bubbling up in him started reaching the surface each time Wade spoke, and, if he was hearing correctly, he could hear the annoyance in Wade’s voice as well.

It annoyed him when Wade asked how he felt about the situation, how he was feeling and if he felt safe. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell Wade to fuck off and stop caring about him. He wanted Wade to yell at him and push Peter away first so Peter wouldn’t have to.

As quickly as his anger came, it went, leaving Peter feeling guilty for even thinking of telling Wade off. The man did so much for him, and all Peter was was an ungrateful brat, just like Charles said he was. He knew Wade only had good intentions, and Peter felt like he was taking advantage.

His frustration must have been prominent as Wade’s tone of voice changed into something softer as he backed down. 

“Fine. I won’t come over if that’s what you really want.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded silently.

“But if there’s any reason for me to suspect there’s something wrong, believe me, you’re going to get an unprompted house visit.”

“I know.” Peter strained his voice to stay steady despite the uproar of emotions he was feeling.

“If you ever want to come over, Vanessa’s—”

“I don’t want to go back.” Peter’s voice sounded small as he squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head down, so his forehead was resting on his knees. This wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go. He didn’t want to argue with his only friend, but at the same time, he was doing what he thought needed to be done.

“Okay.” Wade finally backed off after a line of silence, he finished the conversation with a simple  “Keep me updated,” and didn’t say anything more.

Peter swallowed hard, feeling his body shake from emotions he forced down and clicked the end call button before he could say anything else.

 

He couldn’t go back inside. He didn’t want to face Skip, or anyone really. He just wanted to be alone

He noticed the sun going down, but he didn’t really care. Since Charles was gone and he’s been outside with Wade anyways, the darkness wasn’t as scary.

Plus, it felt nicer outside. The cold air nipped at his bare arms, but he ignored it and curled up on himself bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them, tucking one arm under his knees for warmth. The small area of grass he was playing with was now plucked and clustered in a little pile next to him.  


The door creaked open as Skip walked out and with him a pleasant smell from the house making Peter’s stomach grumble.

“Watcha doin?” Skip asked, looking down at Peter’s hand and the blade of grass he was scraping.

“Picking grass…” Peter mumbled, not looking up. He didn’t really want to talk to Skip, but it was Skip’s house, and he couldn’t exactly tell Skip to leave, so he just sat, ready to answer whatever questions the older man had for him. 

“You hungry?” Skip crouched down in front of Peter to be eye level, but still staying a respectable distance from him. 

Peter just shrugged. He was, but he didn’t feel like answering. A part of Peter told him to go in there and socialize, but a bigger part of him didn’t want to. He’d rather lay down in his own little bed of self-pity he created for himself.

“It’s fucking cold out here, you’re probably freezing.”  

“It’s fine.”

“C’mon,” Skip pushed at Peter’s shoulder playfully, causing Peter to flinch away. “I made some soup. It’s Chicken Noodle, some basic shit, but still good.”

With some more compelling, Peter finally caved and went in partly because he was hungry, and another reason was to shut Skip up.

 

\---

 

The soup was actually pretty good. It was from a can, but Skip tweaked it by adding a bit of spice and other ingredients in it to add extra flavor. As Skip continued talking about his life in great detail and Peter realized he wasn’t getting out of listening, he let himself ease into the conversation a little more, being polite and pretending to give a crap about Skip’s life.  


“Why are you even back?” Peter asked, flinching at how he sounded. He didn’t mean to make it sound snappy and bitter, but it did.

“Thanksgiving. Took an early break,” Skip responded without hesitation, placing another spoonful of broth in his mouth.

“When are you going back?” Peter asked, knowing he probably sounded rude, but also, he didn’t care.

“Damn Peter. Haven’t been here for an hour and you’re already asking when I’m going to leave. So sweet of you,” Skip scoffed, but was smirking despite the accusation. Peter thought he was teasing, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Sorry...”

“It’s fine, I’m leaving a week from tomorrow. So Sunday. By the way, where’s Charles?”

“I don’t know. Left a while ago.” Peter looked at the door, taking note that Skip used Charles’ first name instead of calling him dad. If he felt like it or were bored to the extent of actually talking to Skip, he’d ask.

“How long was a while ago?”

“A long time ago,” Peter managed to stare at Skip this time with a deadpanned look.

“How’d you survive this long by yourself?”

Peter took a slow sip of his soup before spouting off a lie. Well, he didn’t entirely lie. He did have a friend, and he did stay with said friend, but no he didn’t meet the said friend at school, and they were definitely not fourteen. But he was older, and that’s what counted.

Skip raised his eyebrow, and Peter knew he didn’t believe him, but thankfully he accepted Peter’s statement without a word.

  


\------------

 

The night was restless. Skip went to bed fairly early, but Peter stayed up replaying the conversation between him and Wade over and over in his head. He could practically hear the disappointment in Wade’s tone as if he was in the room with him, and maybe a slight judgmental one when Peter told him to stay away.

 _It’s all in your head_ , he tried to convince himself, but no matter what he told himself, at heart, he knew he was making excuses, and he let Wade down big time.

Letting the reality set in that he was back, he let the disappointment wash over him leaving him angry and embarrassed at himself. Angry that he let his guard down and get swept up in the week, feeling embarrassed that he played pretend house, letting Wade and Vanessa act like they cared about him. In reality, they were probably glad he was gone so they could go back to living their own life. 

After analyzing the whole week and then the call tonight, Peter still didn’t want Wade to leave him no matter how much he tried to villainize him, and a little part of him was angry Wade gave up that quickly. But just like the spike of emotion before, the feeling was immediately replaced with guilt. He wanted this, he told Wade off, and it wasn’t Wade’s fault for leaving. But, a part of his mind rationed that if Wade really did care, he’d fight more, try to get Peter back. It felt too easy, and Peter wondered if Wade was secretly happy Peter wasn’t his problem anymore. The idea made his stomach twist in sick knots, the feeling making his mood drop and making him want to curl up on the ground and sleep, but his mind was running a mile per second, only creating a restless night of tossing and turning, overthinking every little scenario.

  

\-------------------

 

He never woke up so ready for school before. He dressed and got out of the house as soon as he could before Skip could intercept him. It wasn’t that Skip wasn’t nice, but he was a little overbearing and overwhelming, and it’s only been three days since he was home.

His classes were boring as always, but he was grateful for the work given, and maybe, since Charles wasn’t home, he could do the work somewhere else since he wasn’t under strict rules, given if Skip didn’t tattle on him. 

After his morning classes and right before lunch, he went to his locker to get some books for his next class, jumping when a plastic grocery bag rolled out, barely catching it before it fell to the ground.

A couple girls behind him laughed, calling him a baby, but other than that nobody bothered him. That didn’t bother him, he was used to name calling from his classmates. 

What bothered him was the fact that he definitely didn’t remember placing a plastic bag in his locker and that it definitely wasn’t there a couple of hours ago.

He examined the bag, making sure he wasn’t getting pranked. The bag was double layered so he couldn’t see what was inside. It didn’t smell bad, and there wasn’t any odd feeling. He cautiously opened it and found a brown bag and a stuffed animal. Specifically, his stuffed animal. It took him a second, but when he realized what was going on, he quickly went to the bathroom and locked himself in the stall, opening the rest.

Inside the brown bag were two PB&J sandwiches, an envelope, and cookies that were still warm, which meant either Wade or Vanessa came by moments before he got out of class. 

He opened the envelope and a couple one and five dollar bills spilled into his lap, some chocolate bars, and a postcard. The postcard photo was of the Golden Gate Bridge, and on the other side was a small note. It read,

 

“Thought you’d be missing this. Also thought you’d like the cookies. We enjoyed having you, definitely one of the best weeks of our lives. Money is for food or whatever you want. Don’t ever hesitate contacting us if you need something.”

 

Wade and Vanessa XOXO

  


Something in his chest swelled, reading the note over and over. Wade wrote it, but the change in Vanessa’s name served as an indicator that she signed the card herself as well.

  


\-----------------------------

 

He knew that his stuffed animal was a security blanket of some form, but he forgot how much it helped him sleep when he went to bed that night being able to curl up to something familiar. He hid the paper bag in his clothes drawer and placed the postcard in a little box he owned that stored some of his memories. There were little trinkets and photos that he took of random shit, and some photos that some of his past foster families took with him.

The only two photos he really cared about though were on the bottom where they were carefully stored. They were photos of his family. The first one was of him and his aunt and uncle in front of the statue of liberty, and the second one was taken when he was just a baby. Even though he could remember the events that happened before and after the first photo, he loved the second one more because it had his parents in it. After he was placed into foster care, those were the only photos he possessed of them. Without them, he didn’t think he could remember their faces. Those two photos and his stuffed animal were the only things that connected him to his life before foster care.

 

\-----------------

 

Peter wasn’t happy. He was far from happy, but he wasn’t starving, or in need of anything, so he figured that was a plus in his book. Skip always had food available, and, unlike Charles, always attempted to talk to him and tried to find common interests. He also got him some things Peter liked or needed, like new socks or a specific brand of pens. Skip was nice in that way, going out of the way and spending money on things when he didn’t need to.

The conversations were rough at first, and Peter had to admit the issue was on his end. Instead of engaging a conversation he’d just lock himself in his room and sleep or lay in bed feeling like shit. He didn’t mind Skip, he just didn’t feel right around him.

But, he forced his concerns about Skip to the back of his mind. Partially because he tried giving him a chance, the other because he had to live with him.   

The man wasn’t like how he was when Peter saw him last at the funeral. He wasn’t as forcibly happy, or he didn’t try snuggling with him. He was still touchy, he liked to poke, and sometimes accidentally brushed his hand on his thigh or his stomach or lower back, but they were accidental and Skip always apologized, so Peter shrugged it off and let those little moments slide. He figured that was just a personality trait, and he couldn’t fault Skip for being naturally touchy, it was just his own fault for being so fucking paranoid about things mundane like that. He tried not to flinch and make Skip feel bad.

Today was better though. Peter brought some science homework out to the kitchen while he waited on some mac n cheese when Skip came up and questioned him about it. Out of the hundreds of mini topics Skip started, this one actually interested Peter as they struck up a solid conversation with Skip understanding the scientific terms for everything and understanding and engaging in Peter’s interests.

Peter never met someone as interested in science as he was, even Wade and Vanessa didn’t really understand so he didn’t bring up the topic, but Skip indulged in his interest and had feedback and even more information to share. He also brought Peter into his room to let Peter look at the stuff he was working on for school. Blueprint designs, scientific theories that were pretty new, and even some designs for an art class he was taking as an elective.

In short, Skip was talented. And super smart. He was also talking about how he wanted to change the world and help people in poverty and low-income neighborhoods like this one. He wanted to help kids in foster care too, and make the place a safer place to live in in general, and Peter kind of admired him for that.

And, if he was honest, a little part of him liked the attention and the nice comments. It made him feel good about himself. Maybe that was it, he was just uncomfortable with the positivity. Wade was positive, and he didn’t feel weird around him, but, in Peter’s mind, he rationalized that it was because he didn’t know Skip as well as he did Wade. He felt weird around Wade in the beginning too, if he remembered correctly.

Yet there was something about him that was uncertain. A deep, tugging feeling in Peter’s gut told him not to trust him, but Peter couldn’t even listen to that. He was unsure about everybody, and he forced himself to remember not everybody is bad, and Skip hasn’t done anything to make him think he’s dangerous. Quite the opposite actually.

Peter could almost forget about the comments and touches in the past. It was a while ago, and he probably had a warped memory. He was pretty guilt ridden then and not in his right mind. Neither of them was, but they were okay now. He was sure of it.

Peter didn’t like how close Skip would get to him, but it didn’t make him as skittish, but mostly because he trained himself not to be as visibly upset instead of being actually relaxed, when he pat Peter on the back, it didn’t hurt as much, the discomfort minimal and he only tensed for a second. But it still felt wrong, and at this point, Peter figured it was all in his head, that he was just being unreasonable because he wasn’t at the safe house. 

It's only been a couple days, but, progress, right?

 

\-----------------------

 

One thing Peter could say about Skip was he kept him busy. He didn’t necessarily like that, but he didn’t come back home and lay in bed or watch TV. He was actually doing something, even if those things weren’t comfortable to do.

Today, Peter was pulled into an experiment before he could even close the door to the house. Skip was sitting on the couch, working on some paper.

“Want to be part of my class experiment?” 

“What’s it on?”

“Early child developmental stages and behavior.”

He was unsure. “What would I have to do?”

“All you have to do is sit down in front of a camera and answer any questions I ask. It’s easy!”

Peter agreed, leaning up against the wall as he watched Skip set up his tripod and camera. When he was done, he was sat on one of the kitchen chairs, the back against the cream-colored wall in the living room. 

Skip walked up to Peter too close for comfort, but the discomfort was ignored as Skip held his shoulders to position him. With one of Skip’s legs in between his, Peter felt a hand grab his chin and tilt it up to look at Skip who was adjusting Peter’s hair to make it more “presentable.” His movements were slow as he brushed the loose strands out of the way, his hand still on Peter’s chin. Peter suddenly felt vulnerable with the camera and light on him, and he started squirming, jerking his head away and swiping his hair back but also running his palm against his forehead with enough pressure to erase the soft tickle that Skip’s fingers left.

“Messing up my work, huh?” Skip chuckled before sitting down. Peter closed his legs and looked at the ground, suddenly very interested in the carpet. He could hear a little click and whir of the camera being turned on when Skip started the interview.

“Before I begin,” Skip said making Peter look up at him, “I need you to say that you agree and consent to this interview to the camera. You know what consent means?”

“Yes.”

“Good! So, do you consent to answer any questions no matter how personal or uncomfortable you think they are?”

Peter nodded, and then verbally agreed when Skip asked him to do so.

“Just start out with your first and last name.” 

“Peter Parker.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“How long have you been thirteen?”

“Th- three months.” Peter had to think, so much has happened in those months, but before his mind could wander, Skip asked the next question as if he knew Peter’s mind would go down a rabbit hole. Skip continued asking basic questions Peter didn’t know the answers to like “what’s your height?” “How much do you weigh?” and other things that Skip decided he could just figure out later.

“How long have you been in foster care?” 

Peter had to think on this one too. “Mm… three… four years?”

“Does your social worker do her monthly check-up?”

Peter never really thought of it before, but not really. She checked up maybe twice throughout the whole year he was with Charles. “No. Last time I saw her was…” He couldn’t remember. It was sometime in early June, so he just shrugged.

“Interesting… Where’s your family?”

“Dead,” Peter commented flatly, it was a sensitive subject, and he really hoped Skip wouldn’t try to dig too deep. But of course, the man did. The only things Peter would offer up about his family was that they were all dead, and the ones who were alive didn’t want to take care of him.

 

“Would you consider yourself an affectionate person?” Skip finally changed subjects, but at this point, Peter was tense and ready to be done, but he told himself he had to finish the interview. Besides, Skip told him there was going to be uncomfortable questions, and he consented to answer them, so he had to finish what he started.

“I don’t think so,”  

“Do you like to be touched.”

“No.”

“Okay. Now I’m going to ask some more personal questions.”

Peter nodded his head, squirming in his seat from the pressure of being the center of attention, unsure of what was going to be asked.

“Are you sexually active?”

Peter was taken aback by the change, chuckling nervously at the question. “N-no?”

“You say that questioningly.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” Peter turned his head feeling his face heat up, and he was sure it wasn’t because of the hot lamp light on him.

“It’s just questions. They can’t hurt you.”

“I know, but-“

“Don’t be a little baby and just answer the question,” Skip said lightly, “there’s not much more. I’m counting on you for this grade I’m failing this class.”

Peter sighed, feeling trapped and just more uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to be the reason Skip failed a class. With a sigh, he answered. 

“No. I-I haven’t had… that.”

“Sex. It’s okay to say that, it’s not a bad word.” Skip laughed. “Have you at least masturbated?”

Peter just looked at him.

“Touched yourself? In a sexual way.” Skip explained.

Peter knew what that was, he wasn’t stupid, but he started having questions of his own now. “What is this project for?” 

“I already told you.”  
  
“Why are the questions so weird?” Peter pressed.

“Answer the damn question,” Skip snapped, his voice a little tighter. Peter could feel the tension from where he sat, causing him to curl in on himself slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just the grade, you know? I’m banking on this.”

Peter sighed. He got it, the stress of a grade making someone snappy. He did agree to this anyways, he was warned. 

“Y-yeah,” Peter averted his gaze to the old bloody spot on the floor, knowing he was blushing now.

“When?”

“A couple years ago.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It was…” Peter had to think. It was when he first found out about masturbating, and even though he had no sexual desire, he was still curious. Curious to see what his classmates talked about. He remembered how it took him a while to get turned on, and even then, he couldn’t feel any immense pleasure. He never finished, it felt more like work than play stroking up and down, and he was exhausted. Since then he never masturbated. He didn’t feel the need or want to, and he definitely didn’t get turned on by anything sexual. 

“Boring.” Peter finalized and had to explain due to Skip’s questions that Peter was starting to really hate. 

Skip held his word and only asked a few more questions about his sexual preferences and ideal person, but those were equally uncomfortable. Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and felt himself shaking from nerves. He was embarrassed too, having those answers on camera which would probably be seen by at least three people.

He was in the motion of getting up and leaving when Skip told him to stay put.

 

Clicking the camera off skip leaned back and stared at Peter caught himself right before he whined in protest. 

“Off record, how do you feel about Charles?”

“He’s okay.”

“Do you guys get along?”

“Well, he doesn’t hate me… I think.” 

“Nah, I don’t think he does, or else he wouldn’t have kept you around for this long. How often do you talk?” Skip affirmed, and for some reason, that made Peter feel good. It made him feel good that even though Charles didn’t really talk to him, that his presence wasn’t totally hated. 

“A little bit.” Peter looked back at his door, only drawing back to Skip’s attention when Skip asked him to clarify. “We only have small talk.”

“Do you confide in him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if anything happened, good or bad, personal shit and stuff that happened at like, school or something, would you tell him about it?”

“No, probably not.”

“Why?” 

“I think he’d just get mad.”

“Probably. Believe me, I’ve been on that end of the stick, he gets mean when you confess something or finds out you hid something. I told you this before though already, way back when.”  


“Do you confide in anyone else with secrets?” 

“Not really. What’s your point? Can I leave now?”

“I just, ah… need you to keep a secret, can you do that?”

“Sure…”  


“I’m kind of failing classes right now, as you know, and I don’t want Charles to know that, or he’d get really mad. Anyways, I don’t like talking about my school or work in general with him, so if this little interview stayed a little thing in between us, that would be great. Can you do that? Absolute secrecy.”

“Promise, I guess,” Peter shrugged.

“That’s not convincing.”

“I promise,” Peter rolled his eyes and hugged himself, drawing himself to be as small as possible.

“Great. You’re really mature, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Peter said blandly, and as soon as Skip told him he could leave, he locked his door and did what he always did when he was overwhelmed.

He slept.

 

\--------------

Peter never thought he’d miss Charles so much, but after that interview, he’d chose Charles mood swings any day over that. At least Charles wasn’t asking him weird questions. He didn’t dare call the man, but he did text him, wondering when he was going to come home. Maybe texting the man after a month of being quiet wasn’t the best idea, but he did worry about Charles occasionally. 

 _What’s wrong_ Charles texted only about ten minutes later.

 He was a little surprised at how quickly Charles responded. Of course, he never texted Charles that often, but he supposed Charles did respond quickly in the past. Peter settled for the “just curious” response aka just wondering if Skip had to leave before Sunday.

 

 _Back on Friday or Saturday_. Charles answered.   _House better be clean,_  he added at the end.

Cleaning, Peter could do that. Keep the house clean. Of course, there wasn’t much to clean, but he’d reclean surfaces if it meant he’d be too busy to indulge in Skip’s bullshit.

\---------------------- 

Thanksgiving. He didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. At least, not a traditional one in a while. He didn’t live with a foster family over a Thanksgiving in a long time, but Charles would take him out to eat somewhere like a diner or fast food. Then they’d come back, and Peter would be given a little bit of whatever cheap alcoholic drink Charles had out before Charles would go somewhere with his buddies, leaving Peter alone at the house feeling oddly dizzy from the buzz of the vodka.

 Today though, he found himself in Skip’s car on the way to a Thanksgiving lunch. Apparently one of his high school/college friends lived in town, and their parents were throwing a small gathering with a couple other families. Jonathan Woodall or something, he didn’t catch the name because frankly, he didn’t care.  

He wondered what Wade and Vanessa were doing today. If Vanessa had a family they went and visited, or if it was just the two of them having a nice meal. He wondered if they were even thinking of him in the first place, or if they just continued on with their lives free from the responsibility of a kid.

Skip cut through his thoughts, and for the first time, Peter was glad he did. “He’s a cool dude, I think you’ll like him.”

He wasn’t so sure, he realized that he hadn’t been to a social gathering in years, and it was kind of nerve-wracking being in such an intimate space with people as a complete stranger. But still, he was told the food was good, and if anything, he’d just sit and blend in and hope nobody talked to him.

 

\--

 

Of course, he had to talk to people being the strange kid out of the bunch, but he found he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. He’d only talk when asked a direct question, and those questions were respectful, not like the ones Skip asked him. Speaking of Skip, he noticed fairly quickly how everyone called him by his real name, Steven. It was odd at first, hearing Skip go by his actual name, but he figured it was just a college nickname or something. Thinking back to the funeral, not many people called him Skip either. Skip just introduced himself to Peter by the nickname, and that’s what Peter referred to him as ever since.

By the end of the meal, he found himself enjoying the conversation and observing how the people interact with each other, teasing and throwing light-hearted jokes, playful arguing, and just getting along. He wasn’t expecting the parents of Skip’s friend to be so nice either. They treated him like one of their own; the mom making sure he had enough to eat and the dad making stupid jokes that made Peter at least chuckle. Skip’s friend was nice enough too, making jabs about how suffocating it probably was having to live with Skip for a whole week. Peter could only smile and awkwardly laugh, thinking to himself that the friend had no idea what hell it’s been.

There was only one girl that stood out to him though. Through the conversation, he figured that she was just a little older than him. He couldn’t really get a good view of her face since she looked down most of the meal, her shoulder length hair covering most of her features. She didn’t really talk either, only really answering to her parents. At one point, he saw her glance at him, and when she did, he noticed a bruised eye. He gave a small, awkward smile acknowledging her presence. She gave a small smile back, but then looked at Skip and her brother before looking down again, pushing her food around on her plate.

His attention was diverted when he felt a hand on his thigh squeeze him. His whole body tensed, and he whipped his head to look at Skip who was laughing. In fact, the rest of the table was laughing too.

“He’s a little jumpy,” Skip explained to the rest of the table almost apologetically before looking back at Peter. “Mr. Woodall was asking you a question.”

Peter turned his attention to the man pretending everything was okay, and that Skip’s thumb didn’t just rub a small circle on his inner thigh before letting up, discreetly enough that nobody else noticed. A comforting gesture he was sure but as subtle as Skip’s gesture, he casually rubbed the spot with his palm, hoping the pressure would ease the lingering feeling.  

Besides that experience, he enjoyed the afternoon. He liked the positivity, the joy of the afternoon, but Peter still felt a settling in his gut and not from the food. It was just a reminder of what he didn’t have and what he did have, nobody wanted. But, like every other negative thought he had, he ignored it and choked down his feelings.

 

\-------------

 

“Did you have fun today?”  Skip asked.

They were back at the house in the living room, Peter on his regular spot on the sofa, but instead of laid out, he was curled up at the end, leaning against the armrest with Skip on the other side. On the TV, Skip turned on the annual Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. They’ve both seen it, but for old time’s sake, they watched it.

“Yeah, better than I thought it would be,” Peter admitted, staring at the screen and still very full.  


“Now that we’re alone wanna break out the alcohol?”  

That brought Peter to attention, making him glance at Skip, who was eyeing him, waiting for a response.

“I’m underage.” 

Even though he drank with Charles, and even Wade let him have a sip of his beer once in a while, this felt different. It felt wrong, and he couldn’t decide why. Maybe it was because, with Charles, he was the adult of the house and had a significant authority over Peter that Peter didn’t feel with Skip.

“Pfft, who listens to age restrictions anymore. I started drinking when I was nine. Plus, there’s two reasons why you should. One, it’s a tradition in my family, and two, it’s fun, and plus, you’re inside nobody will know,” Skip shrugged before standing and walking to the kitchen.

“So, what do you like, strawberry or coconut?”  

He chose strawberry, deciding Skip had a point. Besides, other kids were doing it, and it wouldn’t kill him to try a small sip. Both Wade and Weasel, and even Charles, gave him lessons on alcoholic beverages and proof levels, so he wasn’t stupid in that department. He figured that maybe a shot would be enough to start out.

When Skip brought the alcohol out in glasses, Peter’s eyes went wide. They were definitely more than just a shot.

“I can’t drink all of that.” Peter eye-balled the liquid, measuring that it was definitely more than a shots-worth in there.

“Drink what you can then, I’ll drink the rest.” Skip pushed the glass into Peter’s hands.

Peter looked down at the clear liquid and decided to get it over with. He took a little sip before sputtering as the vile taste, and burning sensation filled his mouth and run down his throat. He screwed his face into a distasteful look, coughing and sputtering while Skip laughed at him.

“I don’t want it,” Peter said through coughs, trying to push the glass back towards Skip, who only pushed it back into his hands.

“What was that! You gotta take a big swig to feel the full effect. C’mon, don’t pussy out on me.”

Peter glared at Skip, aggravated at how Skip put him down. He really didn’t want to drink anymore, but he also didn’t want to be called a pussy, and his stubborn side made him take a bigger gulp just so Skip couldn’t make fun of him.

“Atta boy!” Skip cheered, raising his own glass before downing a shot’s worth.

Peter laid back, feeling the warmth spread across his chest and through his body. He remembered being equally weirded out and calm when this happened with Charles, the warmth making him feel oddly relaxed, but also a little dizzy. He held his cup in both hands against his stomach as he nestled back into the couch, taking another small sip before deciding he wouldn’t drink anymore.

Skip leaned back too, propping his feet on the coffee table in front of him. They sat in silence for a good long while, the Charlie Brown special was long over so Skip turned the channel. He was almost done with his drink, which Peter thought was around four shots-worth.

“But yeah, back to the Woodall’s,” Skip spoke up suddenly. It took Peter a lot of mental power not to groan and roll his eyes. His head felt floaty, and his body felt oddly heavy, and the last thing he wanted to do was hear Skip’s voice, but he answered anyway.

“They’re a good family. His mom’s great. Reminds me a lot of my mom.”

“Yeah…” Peter frowned. She did remind him of his mom, and Skip only reminded him of what happened, the guilt rising again. He wanted to take another sip just so he could get through this conversation, but the fear of accidentally drunk telling the truth kept the drink securely against his stomach.

“I miss her, you know,” Skip’s voice sounded far.

“I’m sorry,” Peter muttered. He didn’t know Mrs. Westcott for long, but she was a decent lady.  

Skip looked over at Peter and scoffed, “You haven’t drunk much of your vodka.”

“I don’t want too.”

Skip was oddly adamant on getting Peter to drink, and after a few minutes of coercion, Peter took two more respectable mouthfuls and felt himself get extremely dizzy. He laid down as he felt his body get too heavy for him and listened to Skip continue to talk about how he missed his mom, how he wished his family was like the Woodall’s.

Peter had to agree, he missed the times when his aunt and uncle were alive, where they’d sit down and enjoy a conversation, or they’d take him out to eat or see a movie or some other special outing. He felt himself not just thinking these things but speaking them through slurred words.  

Soon all the noise started to be drowned out as a wave of dizziness hit him like a tidal wave. Peter began to feel exhausted. He didn’t know if it was because of Skip’s droning or the TV or both, but it felt weird. It wasn’t his normal tired. His eyelids felt heavy, but his head felt dizzy, and his body buzzed. He tried to get up off the couch, but he only fell back, breathing heavily. He knew he was speaking, but he couldn’t fully comprehend what he was saying himself.

Skip laughing, and that prompted him to giggle a little bit as well even though he didn’t know what Skip said. As far as he knew, Skip was miles away, his voice sounding different and muddled like it was underwater or something.

He could feel Skip’s hands on his upper arms, but he was too numb and too gone to react, and when he was pulled forwards his head felt like it was on a rollercoaster. There was a cold feeling on his lips that he could vaguely connect to his glass that Skip was now holding. Through blurry gaze he watched the world turn up as he tilted his head back, feeling the liquid go into his throat. He could only swallow some of it while the rest trickled out from the corners of his lips and down his chin.

He tried to say something, anything that indicated that he didn’t feel good, but what came out was a mumbled, incoherent mess.  


Skip said something again, but Peter was gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Comments would be lovely 
> 
> I hope the chapter was worth waiting for, thank you for reading :) 
> 
> Have a question or have a prompt? Talk to me over tumblr!  
> Careless-things is my marvel blog
> 
> (If anyone is interested here’s reasons why the chapter is so late)  
> Anyways, there’s a lot of reasons why this was two months in the making, but you came here to read a story not my life and excuses so I’ll try to make this short, but anyways Skip's gonna be around for a while so I really played around with his character in order to get a specific vibe for him, and I didn't want him to just be a one-sided antagonist. So when I found one I didn't want to write chapter by chapter because I knew I'd be inconsistent in some ways, miss details, run into a writer’s block, or have a chapter published then want to go back and edit a detail or something (since that already happened). So I decided to write out the whole of Peter and Skip's story in all one go which is what took me the majority of the time. Then I heavy edited to the best of my ability of this chapter by itself which took about three weeks here and there.
> 
> Also, there's personal shit and I'm in college right now and classes have been kicking my ass, but I only have two weeks left so I hope I can publish more over the break!


	6. Blind To The Intentions of Those Who Deceive Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I came on here to post, and I see that this has 178 kudos?? Thank you guys! I can honestly say I’m surprised 
> 
> I apologize for the long wait, but the next chapter is finally here, hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Trigger warnings at the end of notes)

 

 

Nothing felt real when Peter woke up.

Opening his eyes felt almost impossible, like bricks were somehow attached to his eyelids, pulling them shut despite every effort of his to keep them open. When he opened them he was met with the color blue. A dark, almost navy blue that took up his line of sight with no lines or indication of perspective space. Just a flat, endless void.

His heart felt like it stopped beating from fear and confusion. For a second he thought he didn’t exist anymore and somehow he ended up in an alternate reality. That was until he was able to make out all the little cracks and dents in the color. _A wall_ , his mind told him, but his thoughts felt far away.

He let out a shaky breath, but not in relief. He never saw a dark blue wall while laying on a bed, which meant this wasn’t his bed which meant he was somewhere that wasn’t his own room which landed him in a strange place.

Laying on his side became quickly uncomfortable, the position making it hard for him to breath, but maneuvering himself to lay on his back was exhausting in its small movement.

When he moved, all the weight on his left just slid to the right, the rush sending waves of dizziness to his head, his vision blacking out for a second.

Shutting his eyes, he almost didn’t want to move.

_Almost_

He felt weird. He could still feel his body but it felt like someone put him under anesthesia and he was attempting to pull his soul from his body. On one hand, there was a part of him that felt like his blood turned to iron, numbing him and anchoring him to the bed. On the other hand, he felt like he was floating, but not high up in the sky and more like an inch above his body. That part felt like it didn’t belong to him, that if he wanted to, he could move that floating part away from his body while his physical form stayed there, exhausted and paralyzed.

Opening his eyes seemed almost harder this time, but with effort, he managed to turn his head to the other side to at least attempt to take in his surroundings.

His vision went in and out of focus, the objects blurring every so often and then sharpening almost too intensely during other times.

There was a messy desk with generic desk items like a lamp, pencils, paper, textbooks, and then there were other obscure items, some he could make out like a camera, an open computer with a blue and white USB drive inserted into it, and other things he couldn’t make out. A small digital clock sat on the corner next to the camera, the green light almost too bright for his eyes as he read off 1:42 pm. He tried to look at the computer, squinting at the almost too bright screen, but his vision was too blurry to make out any words and the brightness made his eyes and head throb.

He didn’t want to move, he didn’t have the energy to move, but he also didn’t want to be in a strange room. He had to escape.

Moving his legs felt like lifting a two-ton elephant. It took all his mind and will power to sit up, his vision faltering with the feeling of a ten ton weight in his brain that made him want to tip over, but he forced himself not to. 

His chest burned when he tried to breath; his arm shaking when he reached out to grab the edge of the desk, holding onto it with a trembling hand till his knuckles were white. Taking a deep breath, he stood up with a groan and attempted to steady himself, catching himself on the desk with his other hand before he fell, feeling the room sway with his movement. Standing there, he looked like he just ran five miles: sweating, out of breath, and queasy.

Moments passed before he regained some sense of balance. Still shaking, but feeling like he could walk, he pushed himself away from the desk only making it one step when his leg buckled underneath him, a wave of nausea washing over him wiping him out as he fell to the floor, catching himself just in time before he face-planted on the old, worn down carpet.

Moving onto his side, dread filled him when he accepted that he was trapped. He was immobile, practically paralyzed and weak and on the floor of a room that he didn’t know and if anyone walked in, they could do whatever they wanted to; they could kill him and he couldn’t even fight back.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear something, only briefly making a connection that that was him; that that was him trying to breathe for air. 

His throat closed up like an invisible hand took hold and was pushing down on his windpipe, not enough to cut off his breathing entirely, but just enough to hurt. His lungs felt too big for his rib cage, pushing against the bones in attempts to expand.

He needed to breathe, he _had_ to breathe. In desperate attempts, he tried clawing at himself, clawing at his chest in attempts to free whatever pressure that was stuck in there because if he didn't get that release, he was sure he would die. He knew he was going to die.

But that didn't work, and the fear that was lodged in his chest clawed its way up his chest getting lodged in his throat, cutting off his breathing completely.

Even his heart was beating faster than it ever had. He felt like it was going to explode, like his heart would beat so fast it would get overwhelmed and just stop. But he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't move and he couldn't speak and all he could do was shake violently, his mind unable to logically process what he should do.

He was definitely going to die.

His mind couldn’t construct a solid thought. He just knew through gut sinking feelings that he was dying and that he was scared, and he wanted someone to help him. 

 _Wade_.

He wanted Wade. It wasn’t a thought, it was an instinct. A yearning of some kind that felt natural, yet foreign.

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air. His mouth was dry and any attempt at speaking hurt, creating a pitiful croak. He hadn’t felt this sluggish in a long time, but the last time he felt like this he didn’t feel like this, and this time his throat hurt and there was an odd taste in his mouth.

He could faintly hear himself crying, but he couldn’t feel it. It was like he wasn’t in his own body.

And then there was someone there with him, telling him to breathe. A deep breath in and a slow breath out.

It was hard, and it was slow, but eventually, he calmed down enough to see who was with him. Skip was there, sitting next to him.

“You all done now?” Skip asked concerned, using his thumb to wipe away a tear on Peter’s cheek. Peter flinched naturally. 

Eyes unfocused and heart beating too fast, he lay there too exhausted to respond both verbally or physically. He stayed sprawled out, tears still falling even though he wasn’t crying anymore, pitiful to anyone who looked at him.

Skip hooked a hand under his arm and hoisted him up letting Peter lean on him as they made it to the bathroom, another rush of nausea passing through him. Thankfully, the bathroom was right across the hall from Skip’s room. They didn’t have to walk far, but even then, 15 feet was enough exertion to make Peter vomit by the time he reached the toilet.

“Can’t believe you still have some shit left in ya after last night,” Skip noted from his seated position on the edge of the tub, but his comment laid on deaf ears.

Peter rested his clammy forehead on the toilet feeling the cool porcelain against his clammy skin, not caring how disgusting that was. Any minuscule amount of energy he managed to save was gone.

He could feel himself shaking like he was naked in the cold despite feeling like he was being burned up from the inside out. He didn’t know if it was because of fear or the exhaustion of just being awake.

With some convincing and poking that aggravated Peter, Skip managed to get the boy to stand and brush his teeth. Once that task was (sloppily) finished, Skip managed to get Peter into the living room and onto the couch.

When Skip dropped him, somehow Peter’s deadweight took Skip down too, making the older man fall on Peter, his body making Peter grunt in protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Skip laughed, his body almost covering all of Peter’s torso, their faces too close together making Peter’s hair stand on end in discomfort. Skip’s features became distorted, Peter’s mind erasing those to make Skip just a blank, ghostly face in his memory.

“What happened?” Peter didn’t know what he was asking for. What happened in the room. Whose room was that, why was he in there. Questions he couldn’t quite verbalize just yet.

“I just fell on you. And now, I’m getting up.”

“That’s not—” What he meant, but Skip cut him off, as always.

“Hang on, stay there. Imma make you some food.”

Peter didn’t think he could go anywhere even if he wanted to, so he laid there staring at the moldy ceiling, making shapes out of the outlines of water damage. On top of his body feeling like it turned to metal, there was a feeling that something wrong, his body felt wrong, and not because of whatever the fuck happened minutes ago. Like something happened and he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t remember what happened.

Sounds of pans and anything else that Skip was doing in the kitchen sounded like gunshots in his ears. He groaned and rolled over onto his side to face the sofa backing, covering his ears and curling up into a ball. He just wanted to sleep, his body wanted to sleep, but his head was throbbing.

In fact, his upper arm did too. He managed to shift enough to turn and look at the cause of the pain, only then noticing he was wearing a different shirt than the one he blacked out in, he didn’t even know whose shirt he was wearing, but he didn’t focus on that right now. Instead, he looked at his left arm to see a nice sized bruise about four inches long covering his upper arm. He pushed on it just to see if it hurt, and yes, it did indeed hurt. With a hiss, he turned back to curl up in a ball, ignoring all his problems in any attempt to sleep.

 

\--

 

He was almost asleep when Skip came back with a plate of eggs and coffee for him. The food smelled good, but the idea of having to chew and swallow made him want to throw up again. Peter was stubborn, fighting any attempts at Skip trying to turn him over to eat, but Skip was just as stubborn, not leaving till Peter finally submitted, and that was only because Peter couldn’t stand Skip touching him, poking and prodding with none too gentle jabs.

He situated himself in the corner of the couch so he didn’t fall, practically laying down with the exception of his upper back being supported by the cushion. His hands shook when he held the plate and fork, resulting in a lot of scrambled egg in his lap from missing his mouth, which Skip picked up and placed onto a napkin to throw away later, his fingers or his hand always grazing Peter’s inner thigh or waist somehow. Through his sleepiness, Peter couldn’t feel or care, it made him uncomfortable, but what else was new.

Laughing that annoying, degrading laugh, Skip took the utensil and fed it to him in small bites, making him chew and swallow despite every movement feeling like a tedious exercise. The egg felt like mush in his mouth He felt like he had to throw up again, but he told himself to keep it down. The food did help a bit.

“How are you feeling now?” Skip asked once the food was gone.  
  
“Tired.”  
  
“Yeah, you should probably get more sleep.” Skip nodded his head in agreement, but when Peter tried getting up to go to his room, Skip pushed him back down like Peter weighed nothing.

“Skip—”

“Lay down out here,” Skip said, pushing on Peter’s chest back into a laying position.

“I’m fine.” Peter attempted to get up again. He didn’t want to be on the couch. He wanted to be alone in his room in the dark under his covers

“No you aren’t."

“I—”

“Just stay out here so I can keep an eye on you.”

“But—” Peter tried to think. Tried to activate his brain to find an excuse, but instead, he found the reminder to clean the house, due to Charles’ demand.

  
Commenting on that only led to another stubborn argument with Peter trying with all his strength to stay awake and make coherent sentences, only for Skip to cut him off like he always did.

  
“Listen, stop using up your energy arguing and just do what I say. I can clean, you can sleep. You’ll pass out soon anyways might as well do it laying down than standing up,” Skip shrugged.

   
Peter stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t think well enough to weigh his options, but he was tired, and talking and listening to Skip was using up too much of his energy, so he stopped trying to fight  
against Skip keeping him down, letting go of the tension in his body. 

“Good boy,” Skip smiled almost kindly. Almost, because the kindness was also mixed with something more unsettling, but Peter couldn’t place a word to it. 

“I’ll make sure the place looks good. You can pay me back later, yeah?”

Peter made a noise that sounded like “sure” but he couldn’t get the words out.

\--

Like Skip said he would, Peter passed out fairly quickly after being left on the couch, waking up under a blanket to the sound of a movie playing on the TV. He didn’t know how much time passed; It could have been a couple minutes or a couple hours, but he did have to wrack his brain to remember how he got to the couch. He couldn’t remember everything, just that Skip was there, and there was food, but the conversation and how he got to this spot exactly was lost.   

He stayed in that condition all day. Still absent from thoughts and exhausted. The only small thing that got better was his ability to speak and move, but even then, he could only do those in small increments.

When he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness, he was able to muster up enough will power to stand and basic tasks, ignoring his body’s plea to just lay down and rest. His body still felt like it was floating, and whenever he walked it still felt like pulling on a bag of bricks, but he could at least move by himself and didn’t feel like passing out every other second. He was fine now, he could function.

He didn’t think. There was nothing to think about. He did what he had to do, and he did it without question. He took a shower, having to sit down in the tub, ate a little more, threw everything back up, did his laundry, annoyed Skip to no end with questions about the previous night (to which he got no reply) and ended up back on the couch with his phone and homework that he neglected over his break. He still ignored his need to lay down for a while, but after being unable to concentrate, he did what his body wanted him to.

Somewhere in all that, Skip cleaned both the living room and kitchen, switching the movie on the TV and put in a DVD for Peter to at least listen to. He really only noticed that there was a difference when he heard the theme song and realized he could understand every word they were saying. It was Friends, he discovered when the title showed. He never watched Friends, it didn’t seem interesting and the boxes only collected dust, but Charles never got rid of them. Maybe it was because Charles secretly liked them, or more reasonably it was because they were Mrs. Westcott’s favorite show too, and Charles didn’t throw them away because of that.

  
Sprawled out on the couch uncomfortably hot, he checked his phone only to see that there were no messages or calls. He didn’t know what he expected, other than Wade nobody called him, yet he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Wade hadn’t texted him yesterday. He didn’t blame him, Peter knew Wade had a life that didn’t involve him, but he felt a sort sense of being let down because Wade said that he would check up on him, but he hadn’t had one text from him at all. The idea that Wade didn’t even care to text made him hurt a little, but he sucked it up and told himself to grow up, that he was just a kid and Wade was an adult and did actual things that were important. Then he was worried that something happened to Wade. That he was dead and that Peter would never know what happened. 

Pushing back his disappointment and rising concern. he forced himself to try to focus on the show, listening to the characters and the laugh track, but he felt too empty and far away to acknowledge the quirky wittiness, yet he just kept watching and changing out the DVD when he needed to.

He didn’t like the silence.

 

\--

 

It was dark outside, about nine O’clock now, so Skip walking outside to work on his car at this time of night seemed odd. But Peter didn’t care, if Skip wanted to freeze his ass off, then so be it.

Peter didn’t know he drifted off to sleep again. It was a short nap, woken by the feeling of Skip’s hand on his thigh, shaking him slightly to wake him up.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he looked at Skip who was shivering but also talking to him. To Peter, it looked like he was just mouthing words, he couldn’t hear him.

“Two minutes max, I swear.” Peter was able to catch the end of Skip’s sentence. Apparently, Skip needed help on his car.

“Do I have to?”    

“No, I guess you don’t, but I can’t get back to college without fixing my car, aaand I kinda wanted go back tonight, soo….” Skip bit the inside of his cheek, shrugging at Peter. “If you help, I might tell you what happened last night.”

Peter thought for a second before deciding he wanted Skip out of the house as soon as possible. Also, Skip was offering to fill in the blanks from the previous night.  It seemed simple enough.

He threw on his jacket and trudged outside to wait on Skip, the cold air hitting him almost immediately as he walked through the door. Although cold, the fresh night air, mixed with the smells of food from other houses and trash on the streets, felt nice after being cooped up and sweating on the couch all day. The wet chill cleared his mind a little. At least, he thought it did.

 

The vehicle itself, an old, black truck with nothing special to make it stand out, sat at an awkward angle on the small driveway with one of those big industrial rechargeable flashlights on the ground.

Standing awkwardly against the truck, feeling the cold metal seep through his two thin layers of clothing, he heard the voice of a woman on his left. 

Turning his head felt like he was turning in a swimming pool. Looking over the edge of the truck bed across the street, the neighbor girl— er, woman, he guessed, walked out of the house. He didn’t know, she looked young, but the amount of makeup she wore was very deceptive. Candy, he thought her name was. Or, at least, it was the name she told him. Charles knew her real name but didn’t share it with him.

She was a prostitute though, Charles told him that much, and just because she slept with other men didn’t mean she was a bad person.

Tonight she was dressed up in her night attire. This time it was black jeans that stuck to her body, showing every curve of her hips and ass with a jean jacket that looked warm, but managed to still show a tight-fitting red top that barely covered her breasts. In fact, the jacket somehow managed to make her chest prominent. Her black hair, which was always changing, was now styled into a medium-length afro that reached her shoulders, the small curls bouncing slightly with every step she took.

He’s seen her mostly through the window of the living room, but sometimes Charles would help her with things, or they’d run into each other when walking to or from the bar. He liked her. She would acknowledge him whenever she did see him, always waving and saying hi or asking about his day. Sometimes she’d ask how she looked, but never lingered on small talk. And she always gave him nice smiles.  

But other than that, they never talked.

 

She waved at him as she walked by, giving him a sincere, toothy smile.

“You’re out past dark!” She exclaimed, her smile not wavering as she crossed the street. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied in a soft voice, still a little too tired to talk at his normal volume, but he gave a small smile anyways.

“What’s the special occasion?”

“Charles isn’t home.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Skip."

“Who?”

“S-stephen?” Peter furrowed his brows, trying to remember Skip’s real name.

“Oh. That’s his son, right?”

Peter just nodded.

It was Candy’s turn to furrow her brows. What she was thinking, though, was never spoken.

“Come over if you need anything then hun, my mom’s there with Annah.”

“You too…” Peter trailed off, cringing. Do you even tell a prostitute to have fun? What is there to have fun about?

The door opened not a minute later, with Skip walking out to stand next to Peter.

“Who’s that?”

“Neighbor girl.” Peter moved away with small steps, trying to create a distance.

Skip didn’t seem to notice. With his hands resting on his waist, he was still too busy looking to where Candy was walking, her ass outlined by her jeans and highlighted by the orange glow of the street light.

“She’s fucking hot,” Skip whistled long and low.  

Both of them stood watching Candy, who was almost out of sight now, enveloped by the darkness. Peter didn’t understand the sexual appeal though. She was pretty, yes, but in a “I want to photograph you” kind of way instead of the “I want to bang you” kind. He was much more interested in her ever-changing hairstyles than what she was showing.

“What do you think? Out of ten, how much would you wanna fuck her?”

Peter didn’t know how to answer that question. One, she was too old. No, she was young, but she was too _old_. For him, at least. He couldn't make sense of words right now. But he did know he didn’t see any interest or appeal _to_ rate her like that. He supposed she would be considered sexy since men paid for her, but he didn’t see it. The idea of a naked person didn’t turn him on at all. He’d hear boys and girls at his school talking about their bodies or someone else’s, always talking about sexy people or busty girls, but he never joined, even if asked.

He was bullied for it too, rumors going about that he was gay or disabled. He hated it. It only made him feel more disconnected with people. He didn’t have anything wrong with gay or disabled people, but that wasn’t him. He wasn’t either, well, he never had a crush on anyone, but he was pretty sure he was straight. He did feel like there was something wrong with him that made him unable to relate to something seemingly normal though, that he couldn’t see people the way others did. Or feel for them sexually.

“She has a nice personality I guess?” Peter shrugged. Visually, he’d rate her an 8, but sexually, he’d probably say 0, but he wasn’t going to say that to Skip. He wasn’t going to put himself out there to get shit on by Skip too.

“Meh, personality. Sometimes women have too much of it,” Skip scrunched his nose in disgust before shrugging nonchalantly, telling Peter what to do.

Doing what Skip told him to do landed him with his back against the cold, damp cement, holding up a piece of metal with Skip laying too close beside him screwing something in with one hand, his other holding the other end of the pipe.

Peter laid there with his mouth pursed shut, staring at the warped light reflections on the pipe as Skip’s shoulder kept nudging him with every twist of the wrench.

“Lay there for a sec,” Skip said, getting up and shifting so he was now on his knees, one of Peter’s legs trapped in between them while he leaned over to dig through his toolbox that rested on the floor of the truck.

Peter didn’t want to lay there. He felt slightly exposed, and the dirty cement underneath him was cold, the dampness on the ground seeping through the thin fabric he had on.

But he did. He laid there obediently staring up at the rust covered pipes, intrigued by the colors and patterns it created. Focusing on those, he didn’t see Skip stop moving, and from his position he wasn’t able to see Skip’s face which was glancing down, watching and drinking in the sight of him, laid out and vulnerable.

He couldn’t see Skip look at him, but he could feel the presence focused on him, itching at his skin uncomfortably. This feeling was somehow familiar even though he didn’t know how, so he started to get up, but stopped when Skip held the wrench forward, the tip pressing on his ribs a little. The

“Hey, no, lay there for a bit longer, gotta find the right tool, can’t find it.”

Peter held the pipe, trying not to squirm at the close contact. His arms started shaking badly from the exhaustion, sweat starting to bead his forehead. He felt stupid that he was more aggravated over the close contact than the physical exertion. He could do it, if he just mentally turned it into an exercise, he could get over his uncomfortableness. He was doing great, being good and fighting his instincts to cringe, until he felt Skip’s knee shift to where it rested right against his groin, causing him to practically surge forward, his head almost hitting the pipes above him.

Peter bit his lip, extremely uncomfortable now, feeling Skip’s knee move with every movement Skip made above him. He wasn’t going to say anything, it was fine. It wasn’t sexual, it was just for Skip to get a better position, but he couldn’t take it. He started feeling a familiar yet still odd sense of warmth start pooling in his groin despite being in the cold, and he didn’t like it.

“Skip, could you maybe… move your leg?” Peter asked quietly, a little embarrassed, knowing what would happen if there was any more contact.

“Hm? What did you say?” Skip asked, shifting so now both of his hands were palm down on the cement on either side of him.

“Your knee.”

“Oh, oh!” Skip looked down and laughed, moving it away, but only to the side so he was now more spread out than he wished to be. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. This bitch of a screw won’t freaking tighten.

“Oh…” Peter hesitatd. “It’s… it’s fine, but please _move_ your leg.”

Skip did, calling Peter a ‘little weirdo’, letting Peter draw his legs together, bending his right leg at the knee so Skip couldn’t lean down on him unless he wanted a knee in the stomach. He held it in that position even when Skip lowered himself back down beside him, tool in hand.

\--

“I think I’m done!” Skip exclaimed, wiggling out and sitting with his knees bent in front of him, wiping his hands on his pants to get rid of some of the grease.

Peter dropped his arms, letting them thump to the ground, barely phased by the harsh movement.

He wiggled out from under the truck with minimal difficulty and stood on shaky legs to walk back into the house.

Skip didn’t move to get up, but when Peter walked past, Skip reached a hand out and snaked his arm around Peter’s thigh, pulling him close and keeping his grip tight.

“I… I gotta do my homework now,” Peter stuttered.

“Sure, yeah, I’ll let you get back to that.” Skip agreed, but he didn’t look at Peter or make any move to get up.  

Peter tried to move, his heartbeat spiking when he couldn’t move, feeling the tips of Skip’s fingers kneading the soft flesh of his inner thigh through his jeans. He knew he was clothed and that Skip wasn’t touching anything, but it still felt gross and inappropriate, not to mention extremely uncomfortable.

“What- what are you doing?” Peter asked, his heart thumping wildly, trying to pry Skip off of him.

“Don’t you want to know what happened last night?” Skip looked at him this time.

Peter stayed quiet, biting his lip while he thought through his options. He wanted to know. He really, really wanted to know, but he also wanted to get away from Skip. He figured he could survive a couple more minutes. Ignoring his overwhelmed senses telling him to get out, he said he wanted to know.

Skip demanded that he sit in front of him, so Peter did, leaning against the truck for support and sitting in his normal position with his knees up to his chest in defense, his arms wrapped securely around him.

Skip shifted, now in a crisscrossed position, looking like he was going to start talking.  Instead, he leaned over and turned to turn the flashlight off, now enveloping them in darkness. The dull light from the front porch didn’t have enough strength to reach to where they were laying, but because of where Skip was sitting, he was just a dark silhouette. 

The way the car was parked and the street, nobody would have seen them. Even if someone did, they would just walk away.

“Why-why did you turn the light out?” Peter asked, teeth chattering from the cold.

“It’s much more fun talking in the dark.”

“Just… tell me, please.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Peter nodded his head, apologizing for apparently demanding instead of asking, waiting for Skip to

“Well you got drunk, got extremely extroverted and then you said you started feeling sick. I was drunk too, but I managed to get you to the bathroom and then you threw up on both of us. Because I was drunk and you just, you know, fucking threw up on me, instinctually I pushed you away and then you fuckin tripped and hit your arm on the toilet. Had to wash you off in the tub cause you got that shit everywhere. Your hair, your body, it was fuckin gross, so you’re welcome. Then you passed out so I thought hey, I should keep him in my room to monitor him so he doesn’t choke and die on his own barf,” Skip cringed at the memory, following up the details with some lesser bits of what they talked about. Mostly school and friends and shit.

Peter hid his face in his knees, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Skip laughed softly once he finished his story. Looking off to the side. “You were really touchy though. I was surprised, but I kind of liked it.”

“Huh?”

“You were all over me practically!”

“I— that doesn’t sound right.”

“I know! That’s why I’m saying, it was surprising.”

Peter frowned, it didn’t seem like him. Even drunk, he didn’t think he’d be ‘all over’ someone. He was drunk before he couldn’t remember anything, and if he remembered correctly, he didn’t want to touch Skip.

“What is it with you and touch anyways?”  

“What?”  

“I mean, fuck, you act all jumpy and uncomfortable when someone, _aka me_ , touches you, like you can’t handle it. But then last night, you couldn’t get enough. I had to push you off me for fucks sake!”

“That’s not- I wouldn’t do that.”

“Sober you might not, but drunk you did. Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything inappropriate or nothin, just all cuddly and shit.”

“I- I don’t… like it.” Peter felt frustrated at his wording. His mind was still a little fuzzy, and with the cold and attempt to try to reason why he’d be touchy, forming a defensive reason was hard.

“You don’t like being touched?”

Peter nodded his head as best as he could with it still resting on his knees.

“That’s kinda childish, don’t ya think? You’re thirteen, grow up already.”

“Hey!” Peter mumbled, glaring in Skip’s direction, pouting at being called a child. This was the first time he noticed Skip got closer to him, still cross-legged, but closer all the same.

“Maybe I’ll have to get you used to it. Touch, I mean. It’s only going to set you back later in life you know, if you can’t handle simple gestures from anyone.”

Peter watched Skip’s hand reach out and touch one of his arms wrapped around his knees. Skip repositioned himself now, sitting up on his knees and moving his body forward, his hand traveling up Peter’s arm till it rested on his bruise.

Does this make you uncomfortable?” Skip asked, moving his other hand to rest on Peter while the one already on Peter’s arm traced small circles on Peter’s bruise, but not putting pressure on it so he didn’t hurt Peter, but he still did.

Peter nodded his head, gulping and shaking despite being tense, he pushed Skip back with his hands and kicked out with his feet, dread settling in again. Skip moved back so he didn’t get hit, but instead grabbed behind Peter’s knees, forcing his legs flat so Skip could sit on top of them, the weight of his whole body keeping Peter’s legs pinned down.

“Why?” Skip said, letting his hands slide up Peter’s thighs and rest on his waist, pressing forward slightly to keep him immobilized. A sickening feeling sent a shiver down his body and settling restlessly in his gut.

“Don’t touch me,” Peter hated how his voice cracked, the words breaking up in his throat, being cut from the fear lodged in his throat.

“Don’t tell me what to do and answer my damn question,” Skip replied, no humor in his voice.

Peter stared, studying Skip’s face without having to look into his eyes as best as he could in the dark. He didn’t know what was going on, this wasn’t the Skip he knew. The Skip he knew always laughed or had a smile on his face and always joked. This Skip didn’t have any mischievous look or any hint of a smirk, he looked almost deadly with his look, his vague features terrifying in the dark.

He felt trapped and he felt small and powerless. Even though Skip wasn’t doing anything bad, the look in his eyes sent chills down his spine. He felt like he was in danger, but he didn’t think he was.  

“I- I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever the reason, you need to fix it.” Skip squeezed Peter’s sides once before getting up and walking away.

Peter sat there, stunned, wondering what he just experienced.

\--

The cold eventually made Peter walk inside, but he didn’t want to be inside. In his room with the door locked he sat on the floor against his bed in complete darkness, mindlessly playing with his stuffed animal’s fur in his lap.

He didn’t want to be around Skip. He didn’t feel safe around him. Which was silly because Skip hadn’t really hurt him. If he was scared about anyone it should have been Charles or Wade even, but Skip gave him chills that both Wade and Charles never gave him, and that unnerved him. Charles never touched him like Skip had done. He never made him want to take a cheese grater to his skin and scrape it all off to relieve the ghost sensations. Skip’s fingers felt bad, the texture and bone structure of his hands felt too weird. He couldn’t describe it, but he just didn’t like it.

He wondered where Charles was. The man said he might be home tonight, but it was looking like he wouldn’t be. At least with Charles here he’d keep Skip’s attention.

The room felt like it was shrinking on him, suffocating him and sucking out the oxygen, leaving him shaking and breathing heavily, trying to get enough air in his lungs, the tightness in his chest squeezing out any kind of room for his lungs to expand. It felt similar to how he felt earlier, but not so extreme.

 

He needed air.

 

Putting on a long-sleeved shirt over a short sleeved one, and then a sweater and jacket over that (a sight to be seen for sure with the wrinkled and layered sleeves), he walked outside to sit on the cracked cement steps. 

He didn’t bother turning on the porch lights. He preferred the darkness.

Looked out into the darkness, past the old chain link fence that marked the territory and into the dark, eerie streets, he wished he was anywhere but this house.

The streets, still and ominous, looked inviting, almost like it was whispering to Peter to explore them. The wet ground reflected the glow of the street lights, drawing Peter’s mind to the idea to take a walk despite still not feeling that great. Anywhere was better than inside right now. Besides, Skip said he was leaving tonight, he was inside right now packing up the last of his stuff. He could stay out for a while and miss Skip’s goodbye hugs and whatever the fuck else Skip wanted to do.

Charles could still come back tonight though. The thought kept him grounded. He never broke one of Charles’ rules. At least any of the major ones, and this one probably on the top of his list along with going into the man’s room. But he decided he’d rather suffer a full-blown beating by a mercenary than having to face Skip.  Bruises could always heal, he already had one, but ghost touches wouldn’t. A body couldn’t heal what it didn’t have.

Patting his pants pockets, he couldn’t find his phone to see what time it was, but he couldn’t care about that right now. He probably left it in his room or it fell in between one of the couch cushions. He’d get it later.

With a groan, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets for a little bit of extra warmth and walked off the steps, hesitating when he reached the gate. Looking back one more time, the decision to face the dark, dangerous streets or go back and deal with his own personal hell seemed easy. So, he decided to walk.

 --

He walked where his mind took him, not thinking about anything, and that led him to a crummy door in a sketchy neighborhood. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, nervous and shivering fore from anxiousness than the cold. Nobody was answering, and the lights were out. He was at Wade’s safe house and it was a long shot, he knew, that Wade would be here, but he still tried. After Skip, he just wanted to be with a friend.

Someone he could trust not to touch him… like that at least.

Hanging his head with a sigh of defeat, watching his breath form in front of him, he kicked at the door lightly before trailing off, keeping his head down as he walked.

And he kept walking, despite his growing exhaustion, straight to Sister Margaret’s to try his luck there.

The familiar sounds of yelling and general talking mixed with the smell of sweat and beer curled around him. It was gross, but it was familiar. And it was warm.

“What the fuck?” Weasel asked bluntly in his monotone voice when he saw Peter sitting in front of him.

Peter murmured a reply, too tired to even hold his head up. Slouched over, he stared at the wood grain on the bar, examining the cuts and dents in it. The sudden warmth after all the cold causing him to break out into an uncomfortable sweat.

“You okay?” Weasel asked yet sounding neither concerned or like he cared. His usual tone of voice, really.

Peter nodded his head, but the brick that he could still feel up there made his head spin and drop forward too far, hitting his forehead on the table.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Do I look like something happened?”

“You look like you snorted snow and shot ice at the same time. And then got hit by a truck.”

“It’s not snowing,” Peter replied, the only bit of the sentence he was able to gather. He never knew what Weasel was talking about.

“Fuck. What kinda drugs did you take kid,” Weasel muttered, turning to do his job with other people at the bar.

Peter was too tired to hear or see anything. Now that he wasn’t walking, and that he was somewhere warm, he crossed his arms on the table, resting his head on them. He didn’t see the stares or hear the comments about “Charles’ kid” and he definitely didn’t hear the whispers about him being “Wade’s mystery kid”.

“So, _Peter_ , why the hell are you here?” Weasel leaned forward, locking his elbows so he could lean on his hands.

“Where’s Wade?” Peter brought his head up, now resting his chin on his arms.

“I don’t know. That fucker has a life like a bad James Franco movie. He could be on the run, in hiding, or dead. Haven’t heard from that ball sack in a couple of days now.”

Peter remembered Vanessa telling him something like that. That Wade would sometimes go missing, but he still had to ask. “Is that… normal?”

“No and yes. Listen, he usually only goes off the grid when getting a gold card. Last I checked, there was no gold card.”

“Oh. What time is it?”  
  
“Around 12. Why are you even here.”

“I was looking for Wade.”

“Everything alright at home?”

Peter forced himself to look at Weasel who was looking at him through his glasses. Peter opened his mouth but shut it. He didn’t know Weasel well enough to know how well the man could spot a lie, and definitely didn’t know him well enough to talk about things. Hell, he wouldn’t even tell Wade.

“Can you get in touch with him?”

“I could. Why?” Weasel arched his brow suspiciously.

“I wanna talk to him,” Peter muttered, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head down on them. He could take a nap right here, right now.

“Why don’t you call him on your own phone.”

That was a good question. Peter didn’t feel well enough earlier to even talk, and he guessed he just forgot.

“Forgot.”

“So you walked here to just… talk to him?"  
  
Peter nodded, and Weasel just rolled his eyes.

“What about?”

“Nothing. I just… wanted to talk to him,” Peter shrugged, closing his eyes. He wasn’t going to disclose what Skip did. There was nothing to disclose. He thought about it and really, Skip didn’t do anything. He was just making a big deal out of things.

“God. Don’t fucking fall asleep here.”

“M’ sorry.” Peter put effort into opening his eyes and keeping them open. His body screamed for sleep. He felt like he was vibrating and dizzy, but his body weighed a ton as he forced himself into an upright sitting position and slid off the chair, his vision blacking out for a second at the movement.

“Wait, wait, wait where are you going?”

“Back.” He could make it back to Charles’ place, it was only like, a mile.

“You got someone with ya?”

“No.” Peter hung his head. Not in shame, but because he had barely any strength to keep it up.

Weasel sighed and yelled something at a burly looking man and woman asking them if they could take Peter back. In response, they flipped him off telling him they’re not fucking babysitters.

“You can sleep behind the bar if you want.”

Peter thought about it. He was tired, but he wasn’t tired enough (he thought) to lay down on the dirty floor with whatever insects were living down there. Besides, it felt like hours since he left. Skip should be gone by now.

“I gotta get back.” Peter started walking.  He paused after a couple steps and looked up, his head barely held up and his eyes unfocused. “Please don’t tell Wade I was here.”

“He’d fucking castrate me if he found out I didn’t tell him.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”  
  
“I don’t think you understand Wade. Or castration kid."

“He wouldn’t,” Peter said, but honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Wade. He denied that thought though, he was sure Wade wouldn’t go that far.

“Oh, that fucker would. And let me tell you, I’ve seen a castration before and it ain’t pretty. It’s all blood and nuts and vomit and…” Both Weasel and Peter’s whole body shuddered in sympathy pain at the idea. “It just isn’t pretty, and I know that motherfucker would draw out the process.”

“ _Please_.”

Weasel squinted at Peter through his round glasses, some strands of greasy hair hanging in front of his face as he thought about what he should do. With a slow breath out, the strand of hair moving with his breath, Weasel decided the kid wasn’t worth arguing with “I’ll think about it. Get back home.”

Peter nodded in a silent thanks. Maybe, if he was more awake and aware, he’d argue, but right now he was satisfied with the response.

When he left, Weasel pulled out his cell and called Wade only to be sent to voicemail. He left a short, but to the point message.

In his defense, his ball sack was more important to him than some kid’s wish for secrecy.

 

 --

 

Somehow, Peter made it back. What should have been a ten, fifteen-minute walk took more around twenty-thirty minutes in between the pauses of wanting to fall asleep on the side of the road. Taking a nap at the bar wasn’t sounding like a bad idea. He was about three-fourths of the way home when he stopped shivering. It didn’t feel that cold anymore and laying down for a little nap didn’t sound bad, but a small voice in the back of his mind told him to keep going, so he did.

It started drizzling outside. Not quite rain, but enough to cause small droplets of water to drip from his now wet hair and fall down his face. His three layers weren’t enough to spare him from the cold winter weather, and without any protection around his head, he was practically an ice cycle by the time he reached the property. His eyelids were almost closed, the strength to keep them open wasn’t there. Because of this, he didn’t notice the old, beat up truck that now sat on the side of the road instead of the driveway. He was too focused on getting into his bed under the covers and sleeping for years.

So, he walked in, unbeknownst to him the danger that awaited inside.

“Well ther’ y’u are,” Skip slurred, sitting up from the couch, tilting a little. Peter almost fell from surprise, catching himself on the wall.

Panic rose in his chest, his heart beating wildly when Skip staggered towards him. Only when he started walking was when Peter, somewhere in his mind, connected Skip’s walking and slurred speech was because of alcohol.

“You left,” Peter sounded empty, staring straight ahead, keeping himself plastered to the wall next to the door, still chilled to the bone. Every ounce of energy put into keeping him upright.

“I was leavin’ till I re’lized you weren’ here.”

“I was walking,” Peter tried to walk. Feeling light, his body started falling forward, so he kept still on the wall.

Skip laughed loudly, now clearly drunk. “Not much walkin now, huh?”

He reached out to touch Peter, holding him by the shoulders and sliding his hands up to Peter’s bare neck, the warm clamminess of Skip’s hands contrasting against the numb, ice cold skin.

Peter shivered, and not from the cold.

“You’re freezing,” He murmured silently under his breath, moving his thumbs and placing them under Peter’s jawline, forcing the boy’s head to tilt up.

“’M not cold,” Peter mumbled, his eyes closed. It was true, he felt irrationally hot actually. He stopped shivering violently about three fourths of the way back to the place.

It took a good while for Peter to open his eyes to look at Skip, falling asleep standing up. Unfocused, brown eyes met cold, calculating blue ones, their color just a ring against large pupils.  

“C’mere,” Skip drunkenly ushered Peter to the couch.

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t move without falling, trapped between a wall and Skip. In his sleep-deprived, hypothermic state, Peter couldn’t consciously see the danger, but his body still subconsciously told him something was wrong, and, if he was honest, he was scared of being in the same room as Skip right now. Somewhere inside him, he knew he should move into his room, lock the door, yet he let Skip guide him to the couch, and sit him down.

“I made some hot chocolate for you. Knew you’d be cold,” Skip said, walking towards the kitchen and warming up a cup.

Peter looked at his room. Now would be the chance to go. He stumbled up, grasping at the couch cushion,

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing buddy?” Skip came over, placing his hands on the side of Peter’s chest to steady him.

“I wanna sleep.” Peter almost cried from frustration. If he wasn’t so fucking numb and exhausted, he might have had.

“You will, soon. Drink first.” Skip placed him back on the couch, getting the drink after the microwave beeped.

He came back, ushering the drink at Peter. Peter couldn’t hold it even if he wanted to. His hands were shaking too badly. The hot liquid splashing a little over the edge, burning Peter’s ice cold skin. With a yelp, he almost dropped the cup. This made Skip hold it to his lips similarly like he did with the alcohol.

With gentle prompting, Skip was able to get Peter to drink. The taste was bitter, but he drank it with just a little of it dribbling in the corner of his mouth. He felt like he was sweating by the time he finished the drink. The contrast of the hot chocolate warming him just a little against the cold of his clothes became uncomfortable.

Peter’s mind was too fuzzy to find Skip wiping away the liquid with his thumb and tasting it weird. He just wanted to sleep.

“Lettts ge’ you t’ bed,” Skip took Peter by the wrist and stumbled to Peter’s room, Peter following him obediently, the warm liquid making him feel more tired than he already was.

Once in the room, Peter let go of Skip’s hand and started climbing into bed, not even caring about his wet clothes.

“Ye’r clothes.”

“What?”

“Cn’t go t’ bed in those, take ‘em off.” Skip walked to Peter, cornering Peter in between the bed and himself, placing his hands on the hem of Peter’s shirt.

“Why?”

“Hy- hypothermia. Don’t wanna get w’rse. Can I take your clothes off?”

Peter didn’t answer. At this point he didn’t care. Maybe a more conscious, more aware Peter would have pushed Skip away and told him to get out, but zombie Peter only wanted to get to bed. The threat of Skip still existed, but that concern was somewhere far, far away now.

Skip took his silence as an affirmative and started undressing Peter’s three layers of shirts while Peter let him, albeit very uncomfortably. Skip’s fingertips felt like fire when they grazed up against his skin as his last shirt was taken off and thrown into the corner of the room with the other clothes.

He wrapped his bony arms across his tiny chest, void of any muscle, goosebumps forming on his arms as the cold air made him shiver. He bit his lip nervously, looking anywhere but in Skip’s direction.

“Let’s get you ‘nto bed.” Skip brought the sheets down to the end of the bed and maneuvered Peter quite easily onto the mattress till he was laid out flat. Skip followed him, positioning himself on his knees so that they were straddling Peter’s knees.

“W-what are you doing?” Peter asked, his heart beating wildly in panic when Skip started unbuttoning Peter’s water-soaked jeans.

“Hypothermia. Gotta get _all_ the wet clothes off.”

Peter attempted to get up, only for Skip to grab him and bring him back down, placing both hands on either side of Peter’s arms, feeling them up and down with clammy hands.

“You’re so cold.”

“C-cause I d-don’t have a f-fucking shirt,” Peter managed to get out through chattering teeth.

Peter tried struggling in the tight grip, trying to get up, but Skip held him still. Eventually, Peter stilled when he realized he was too weak to put up a resistance.

“Good boy,” Skip leaned down and muttered into Peter’s ear, his hot breath against Peter’s cheek sending chilling shivers of fear down his spine. “Lemme take care of you. I know what “m doin’”

Skip rubbed a thumb over Peter’s jaw before sitting back up, taking off his own shirt.

Peter watched Skip like he was watching a movie. He felt Skip hook his fingers under his pants and underwear band, felt his nails slightly scratch against his skin creating goosebumps on his skin. He heard himself whimper when he was stripped of the last piece of decency, heard his pants thumping on the ground where they were discarded messily.

“Skip!” Peter cried out when Skip started undressing himself.

“T’ keep y’u warm,” Skip repeated. “Look it up.”

He knew that skin to skin contact would work, but there were other ways to help hypothermia. Peter closed his eyes, exhausted, but now too scared to sleep. He fought every cry for sleep in his body to cater to the screams of panic that started blooming in his head and chest.

He felt Skip shift so now he was behind him, pulling the covers over both of them. Arms reached over, pulling Peter into a tight embrace so his back was right against Skip’s chest. He did feel warmer, but that didn’t make up for the cold dread as he squeezed his eyes tighter when he felt the hand that was under him start lightly brush his finger back and forth over his chest. He was very aware, even in his state, of how naked both of them were.

“Stop,” Peter whimpered, but the traveling hand didn’t cease its movement. He couldn’t see Skip, but he felt Skip pressed right up against him, his warm breath a little labored against the back of his neck and… and he could feel something pressed against his thigh. In an embarrassing realization, Peter knew that Skip had a boner.

 “Skip…”

“Shh, go to bed,” Skip whispered.

Peter figured that Skip didn’t hear him, and he didn’t really want to try again. His mind was still too tired and fuzzy to make sense of it, but he was confused why Skip would have a boner right now. He knew that random boners were common. Hell, he suffered with random boners at inopportune times, but this time it just made him painfully aware at how vulnerable and naked he was. Something didn’t feel right. He shouldn’t be naked right now with someone else, but he was too weak to get up or say anything.

With the final, heaviest wave of exhaustion, Peter unwillingly passed out despite being so on edge. 

\--

Whether it be the movement behind him or the surprise that woke him up didn’t matter, but either option soon turned into dread when he felt Skip thrusting behind him, his cock moving up and down in between his thighs. Skip’s panting was hot and quick on his neck, sending chills down his spine.

“Skip…” Peter whispered. He still felt extremely drowsy. Even now, as his heart started beating faster, his body still wanted him to sleep.

Skip didn’t reply. There was an awkward moment and embarrassing realization when Peter thought Skip was asleep, and that he was doing this in his sleep.

Thinking this brought on a whole new problem.

Peter didn’t know if he should wake Skip up or push Skip away or try to leave all together and sleep on the sofa. He tried to shift away first, to turn enough to push Skip off of him, but one arm was still securely draped over him, the hand resting on his chest. He tried a couple more times before giving up.

He wanted to say something, but all words got stuck in his throat. He wanted to turn over and wake Skip up, but he didn’t. Feeling Skip’s dick on his thigh felt… odd. But he didn’t say anything.

He could and did blame it on being too tired, but the deeper truth was simple. He didn’t want to embarrass Skip. He didn’t want to wake Skip up and make things awkward between them. Or he didn’t want to wake him up, scared that Skip would do something else. The more heart-sinking knowledge though was that he had a suspicion that Skip was awake, and he didn’t want to face Skip. Have to listen to him. At least in silence he could pretend it wasn’t happening.

So he laid there and let it happen.

He laid there as still as possible, easily passing as sound asleep, which, he practically was. Looking back, he wondered if he even could move if he tried. He just laid there, his body feeling like it was floating outside of his body. Now it felt like he was floating far, far away from his body.

The only thing that anchored him to reality was his bear. Holding his stuffed animal in his arms tightly, his fingers played with the fur texture anxiously as he attempted to regulate his breathing, staring at the closet door intently to ignore the twisted feeling in his stomach and the pressure build up in his throat, rarely blinking, trying to convince himself that what was happening wasn’t anything to care about. It wasn’t hurting anyone. It wasn’t hurting him, Skip wasn’t touching him… too inappropriately. He wasn’t doing anything,

And, he wasn’t doing anything, just laying there under the covers, yet it still was embarrassing. It felt weird and he felt dirty and it just felt wrong to be naked with another person in bed, and he didn’t like it.

Only after Skip’s breath and thrusting quickened followed by a grunt did Peter realize he was holding his breath. He realized when he bit back a noise in disgust and surprise when he felt warm, sticky fluid hit his back, the air he was trapping in his lungs finally letting go with a mangled sob that he bit back.

Skip stilled behind him, but his grip never let up. Peter stayed still, too scared or worried to move. If he reacted, he was scared he’d start crying or wake Skip up. He could feel the warm sticky stuff falling down his back. He hated that feeling, hated how he couldn’t wipe it off and preferably sand his skin off in those areas.

The tightness in his chest never left no matter how much he tried breathing, the scream he wanted to make lodged in his throat making him want to vomit, but he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:panic/anxiety attack, sexual assault, innapropriate touching  
> (If you think I should add something, tell me)
> 
> —
> 
> This was a super long chapter that I decided to cut in half, so the events of the next morning will be seen in the next one or two chapters depending on some things. I hate that I couldn't get more posted over Christmas break, but this chapter was tougher than I thought it would be edit. I apologize if it seemed muddled or rushed in some areas, I tried my best
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter


	7. Blind To The Intentions of Those Who Decieve pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning events of what happened after Skip got him into bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for patiently waiting, this chapter was kind of hard to write for multiple reasons, but here it is! This is my first time writing something like this so I hope it's not... too bad. It's a dark chapter, but not the darkest (those chapters are yet to come). ALSO ALSO I can’t believe how many kudos since the last chapter?!? Thank you all so much 
> 
> Sentences in italics are internal thoughts. 
> 
> If the chapter is too much but you want to continue the story, I'll add a summary of what happens at the end so you can continue. Not every chapter will be rough like this one 
> 
> Trigger warning: Sexual assault  
> (If you think I need to add something, just comment below)

_‘Why do I feel so fucking tired?’_ Peter questioned, waking up and feeling the same effects he woke up to the previous day.

Stretching out his achy joints was almost too much physical exertion, but it felt good all the same.

Small dinosaur noises passed his lips, halting when he noticed Skip sitting on the edge on the other side of the bed doing who knows what, his pale back turned towards him.

Skip was unusually quiet, but at least he wasn’t naked. He had some kind of pants on.

Curling in on himself quickly with his stuffed animal close to his chest, Peter stared at Skip’s back while pulling the sheets up to his shoulders. There were a couple of long, faded scars and some moles and freckles, but despite that, his pale skin was unblemished.

“Don’t stop for me. You make such cute noises,” Skip said without turning around.

He sounded… well, he didn’t have any distinct tone or pitch that indicated how he was feeling. Without his usual overly cheerful tone, Skip’s voice was offsetting and unnerving, sending an uneasy feeling in Peter’s gut, triggering alarms in his mind. 

Shifting uneasily in the covers, a spike of panic flared in his chest when Peter realized he was completely naked. He clutched his stuffed animal tighter as if it could protect his decency, providing a sense of security where he had none.

He didn’t remember getting undressed. He couldn’t really remember a lot of what happened last night. Going bullet by bullet, Peter went through a mental list, trying to remember exactly what happened. Most of his memory was a little hazy still, but he remembered the safe house, and then Sister Margaret’s. Weasel was there maybe? Somehow he got back and then there was hot chocolate and then there was… oh yeah… Skip…

That memory was hazy too.

So hazy he thought he was making it up and it was just a bad dream. Skip wouldn’t do that, would he? It felt like a dream, thinking about it now it didn’t seem real, like it didn’t happen. But the feeling of Skip’s dick, the vulgar noises and the warm cum on his back (that was still there) was prominent in his mind, and the sickening truth made Peter’s guts lurch and his body shudder.

_Maybe Skip was asleep, and he wasn’t aware_

Yeah, yeah that’s what happened. Peter was going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

_But why would Skip undress him?_

He forced his mind to ignore the increasing factors that didn’t line up. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, so he shifted his thoughts to how he was going to get out of this bed.

He needed to take a shower. Needed to wash off the dirty feeling that made his skin crawl and his stomach queasy.

The room tilted on its axis when he sat up and his body still felt that weird floaty sensation, but he wouldn’t let his exhaustion get in the way of getting to the bathroom.

“Hey hey hey, what are you doing?” Skip shuffled around on the bed till Peter could feel his presence behind him. Too close for comfort.

“I need a shower,” Peter muttered, subconsciously shying away from Skip's body. 

He tried to pull the whole sheet off his bed, deciding he’d just walk to the bathroom looking like a Roman in a toga, but Skip was making that physically impossible.

“You’re too weak to walk right now, just sit here for a moment and— what’s on your back?”

“You— I don’t know.” Peter was going to tell Skip, but he didn’t want to bring up the awkwardness. And honestly, he probably wouldn’t have been able to articulate himself even if he tried.

Behind him, he missed the triumphant delight that shone on Skip’s face.

With furrowed brows, Peter looked down confused, watching Skip's legs straddle his body. His confusion turned into alarm when he felt arms wrap around his own, pinning his arms to his chest, and his naked back pressed up against Skip. The skin on skin contact was awful. 

“What are you doing?” Peter’s voice wobbled. He tried to play it cool despite feeling fear start to creep up his spine. His nose scrunched in disgust at the smell a faint scent of cigarette smoke masked by some kind of cologne.

Skip’s grasp was loose enough so that Peter could turn his body enough to look at Skip but tight enough that he couldn’t uncross his arms.

“I’m not doing anything.” Skip arched his eyebrow, amusement clear in his voice.

And he was right, technically. Skip wasn’t doing anything that should scare Peter, but something felt different. There was something about Skip’s face that was different too. He didn’t know how to describe Skip’s expression, it was just different. It was still Skip with his blown-out pupils and mischievous look, but there was a change that he felt like was obvious, yet undetectable to him.

Even with a blanket covering him, Skip’s actions were scaring him and increased the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness.

 _He wouldn’t do anything. He’s just messing around. He was just being Skip…_ Peter wasn’t so sure now, but he was holding onto a sliver of hope that this was just one of Skip’s odd moments.

“Let go of me.” The command was supposed to sound strong and demanding, but instead it came out in a scared and frightened whisper, reflecting just how Peter felt. And he hated it.

His body tensed up when Skip cupped his jaw, brushing his thumb up and down his cheek. He could feel his body shaking in Skip’s embrace.

“I don’t want to though. You’re so soft I could touch you all day.” The way Skip said that sent chills down Peter’s spine.

He wasn’t the best at detecting social cues, but this one was obvious that Skip had something sinister in mind.

He didn’t like this at all.

It was a losing battle trying to struggle out of the grip, but Peter tried anyways.

He had to get out, instincts were telling him to get out and get away.

Skip let him struggle, let Peter wear himself out, but he didn’t lessen up. If anything, he tightened it.

Peter strained trying to push him away, wriggling back and forth and prying himself forward to get Skip’s arms off him, but it was no use. He couldn’t attempt to fight for long. He started feeling dizzy and lightheaded, he wasn’t floating anymore; he was swimming more like it in a pool of a thick substance.

In a last desperate attempt, Peter threw his head back, feeling the automatic pain and dizziness when the back of his skull connected with Skip’s face, but it did the trick.

“Ow! Fuck!” Skip let out a string of curses, one hand covering his face while the other loosened his grip on Peter.

Peter's body shook and screamed at him in exhaustion, but he fought his fatigue almost as much as he was trying to fight Skip’s grip.

He had to.

He was out of the embrace and falling to the floor when a sharp pain erupted in his skull as Skip grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him back up. Skip wrapped his arm around Peter’s chest, digging his fingers into Peter’s bruise angrily eliciting a pained screech.

“Stop, please! It hurts, it—”

A hand wrapped around his throat and pressed his head against Skip’s shoulder. There wasn’t much pressure, but it was enough to make Peter still quickly, tears pricking at his eyes from the pain and fear.

“Don’t you ever fucking dare pull shit like that again,” Skip hissed, his anger carefully controlled in a deadly eveneness.  

“Let me go.” Peter hissed back, choking when the grip tightened. Instincts told him to try to pry Skip’s fingers off of him, but Skip still had his arms pinned, leaving him helpless and suffocating.

“Don’t talk back to me either, I won’t accept that.”

His weakened state limited him, allowing Skip to overpower him easily by hugging him tight enough to constrict his lungs. But that wasn’t what stopped him.

 _How_ he felt didn’t stop him, it was _what_ he felt.

Twisting, he felt his back brush against something hard. His face flushed in embarrassment as he stilled, but the feeling was still very prominent against his lower back.

Skip was hard. It was a similar feeling like the one he felt earlier, but this time he was more aware, and that made the feeling that much scarier.

He didn’t have to see it to feel embarrassed. Feeling it was enough. He didn’t know how it affected him personally, but feeling another man’s erection was weird. It was abnormal. It was _wrong_.

Multiple feelings and emotions crossed his mind with none complementing each other. They were scrambled, incoherent thoughts that arose from panic and terror.

He didn’t know whether to tell Skip he was hard. Of course Skip knew he was hard, Peter wasn’t that stupid. He was a male too he knew when his dick got hard, it wasn’t something he couldn’t not feel. Maybe Skip was trying to ignore it as much as Peter was (Although, he doubted that was the case).

Peter turned his head to the side and tried to ignore the sickening feeling of vomiting start bubbling up in his stomach.

“Something the matter?” Skip pressed himself closer into Peter’s back — Peter flinching in response.

“You’re- you’re,” Peter couldn’t form words.

Skip was _hard_.

Maybe it was his movement that aroused him, but in his gut, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“I’m hard? Erect? Aroused?” Skip arched his eyebrow questioningly.

Confusion and disgust ran through him. Feeling it pressed against him scared him, which seemed silly and stupid. Why would someone erect be so scary? He didn’t want a repeat of last night, but that wasn’t necessarily scary either, he just didn’t like it. He shouldn't be scared, but he was.

He was scared that Skip would grind against him again. He didn’t ever want to feel that against him ever again.

“W-why?”

“You’re so pretty when you try to struggle.”

Peter could taste a bit of bile in his throat, but he forced it back down.

“Get off me.”

The blanket idea was out of question. Rolling out of bed would expose him even more, but he needed to get up. But he couldn’t find it in him to move.

He didn’t even know if he could walk yet, and the memory of a couple days ago, falling unceremoniously on the floor and unable to catch his breath, along with the image of being laid out in a heap on the floor naked and exposed caused a shameful feeling in itself, rooting him to bed.

“You’re scared of an erection?”

Peter bit his lip, flushing red with embarrassment. Not technically, but in this case, most definitely.

“It’s a normal thing that happens to boys. They get aroused, and they need a release when it happens. Will you help me find release?”

Skip started lightly tracing a hand up and down Peter’s arm, sharing his sexual desires that scared Peter by even thinking of them and whispering things about Peter’s body in a vulgar, nasty way that made his entire body cringe in humiliation.

There was pleasure that Skip wanted to give him that he wasn’t ready to feel, acts he wasn’t ready to perform, and a life he didn’t want to be part of.

He wasn’t ready.

And Skip knew it, and that thought turned Skip on more than what was happening physically.

His mind drifted somewhere in between Skip talking about wanting to take it slow, make Peter feel him in his soul and how he wanted to fuck him raw and ruin him till there was nothing left.

“I don’t want this,” Peter mumbled, sniffling and staring up at the ceiling to keep tears from falling.

“What, are you uncomfortable?”

Peter nodded.

_Please stop_

“Why? We both have penises. We both have urges and it’s completely normal to have them. And sometimes you just gotta find that release from someone else. You should know this. Right?”

No. No he never felt himself get erect off of someone struggling or causing someone else discomfort. He never had a fantasy of someone else getting him off’.

He gripped his stuffed animal tighter and squeezed his eyes shut trying to pretend like what was happening wasn’t happening. He felt a tug at his arms and upon opening his eyes, he could see Skip trying to pry his animal away from him.

“Stop! What are you doing!” Peter panicked, trying to keep hold until he heard a rip that made him lose his grip. Angry tears welled in his eyes, looking at his stuffed animal, now with a small rip in the neck, looking back at him with it’s sad, worn eyes. Maybe it was just in Peter’s mind, but he could see disappointment as well.

_Weak_

Skip took it out of Peter’s line of vision, but he could hear him take a long sniff from right behind him.

“He smells delicious. Just like you.” Peter let out a small, anguished cry.

His stuffed animal, one of the last remaining bits of his aunt, was now ruined and tainted by Skip.

“Why are you acting like such a girl? Normal boys wouldn’t react like this. Are you sure you’re a boy Peter?” Skip slid one of his hands slide down Peter’s chest and sit on his abdomen.

The sheet slid down slightly, exposing Peter’s pale, heaving chest.

“What are you doing?” Peter’s voice cracked from fear, eyes wide in panic.

“Just making sure you’re a boy,” Skip shrugged.

Peter flushed in his growing shame and embarrassment at Skip’s comment.

He was saying something, but Peter couldn’t hear. He was too busy reacting at Skip’s hand groping his most private parts. Parts he was told were bad if someone touched them and that he should wait for marriage or something. Parts that he didn’t ever want someone else seeing no less touching.

He jolted with a yelp at the foreign feeling, trying to push Skip’s hands away, panic and bile rising quickly. Even through the fabric, he could feel the hand fondling him as if there wasn’t a cloth to separate the two.

“I am! I’m not a girl!” Peter choked out, feeling tears rise.

He was scared of what would happen. Mortified at what was happening.

“Could have fooled me.” Skip shrugged, pulling at the sheets in Peter’s grasp.

After a little tug a war, Skip tore the fabric away from Peter’s hands, exposing the small body from head to toe, placing his hand back where he had it and started stroking.

Peter froze.

His breath caught in his throat and his mind blanked.

His thoughts left him leaving him dumbfounded with no idea what to do. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t comprehend what and why this was happening. His mind could only make out a few thoughts. Simple sentences of denials and pleas in various forms.

“Good boy,” Skip purred, moving his hand around Peter’s arm and sliding down his chest all the way to his leg, prying it open so that he was on full display. The position, although simple, was scary and foreign now that he was naked.

Peter sat paralyzed, his back flush against Skip’s chest while Skip had his way with him.

 _This couldn’t be happening. It was a bad dream, it’s not_ real

His mind went into overdrive, fear as the driver.

He couldn’t feel Skip’s fingers, but he could feel the sensation they left behind. Every trace Skip left on his thighs and torso, every raking of his nails over the sensitive parts of Peter’s skin as he moved from his hips all the way up to his shoulders, made a hot iron trail.

Skip was now using both hands, letting Peter just sit there without being restrained.

Yet he didn’t move.

He _couldn’t_ move.

All the contact almost hurt the same way being touched on his arm or other part of his body hurt, the stimulation overwhelming, but this time the other feeling intensified as well. Where Skip was touching him around his thighs and pelvic region felt different, his body was reacting differently, like it almost liked the contact. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like any of it, yet he felt hot all over. The tingling feeling started to feel good, but so uncomfortable at the same time.

His cock was reacting too, and he didn’t know why. It started to harden just slightly under the constant movement alone. Cries stuck in his throat, leaving only little distressed whimpers that he couldn’t control.

_Stop. This isn’t real. It’s not happening. Please, stop_

An eternity later, Skip moved from behind to right beside Peter, placing Peter on his back and laying right next to him, his cock tenting his pants.

Peter couldn’t feel the bed he was laying on, couldn’t feel the cloth of Skip’s gym shorts as Skip placed his hand on the hard member.

He could only watch, disconnected as Skip puppeteered his hand to move up and down over the thin material until Skip decided to pull his pants down, finishing his assault with skin on skin contact, coating Peter’s hand with cum.

With a groan and a sigh, Skip threw Peter’s hand back over Peter’s waist as if disposing of a tissue. His mind was still floating somewhere else, but he could feel his cum covered hand touch his stomach, almost making Peter vomit right there from the sticky texture.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears slide down his cheeks.

 _Bad, dirty,_ Peter thought.

 

\----

**Skip’s POV**

_Innocent, beautiful_ , Skip thought.

_Fuck, that was amazing._

He could touch the child's flesh all day if he could.

Coming down from his orgasm, he turned his head to look at Peter who stared up at the ceiling with glazed eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Absolute fear.

He loved it. It made him feel powerful.

The child froze, which was as expected. Most of them did the first couple times. But they got used to it, just like Peter would. Peter would learn to appreciate his touches and Skip's kindness just as much as Skip appreciated Peter's body and his submissiveness. 

He leaned over and kissed Peter’s cheek, the salty taste bringing a smile to his lips. “You did well.”

He’d leave Peter like this for the boy to pick up his own pieces, but he didn’t have time for that. Charles would be back, and he couldn’t have any hint or trace that something bad happened or that he was here.

So here he was giving Peter the most thorough washing of a lifetime, making sure he got every inch of his body. If he paid special attention to Peter’s genitals and ass well, nobody would know.

When he was done washing Peter, he moved onto himself.

“I want you to look at me,” Skip said, patting Peter’s cheeks a little too harshly to get Peter to open his eyes. He loved when the children watched him.

With a whimper, Peter looked with wide, scared brown eyes.

 _God fucking hell_ would he do anything to turn the boy around and fuck him right then and there.

Ever since Thanksgiving night when he drugged the boy and saw him naked for the first time, touched him and fingered his tight hole till he was crying, all he could think about was digging his fingers into the boy’s soft flesh, pull at his hair till he was crying and fuck him till his blood trailed down his legs.

He would do that right now, but he couldn’t.

He’d have to wait another day for that.

Right now was a test with Peter’s ability to be quiet. He needed to see if the boy would stay quiet or tattle-tale on him. If he told someone, well, there would be no proof of anything he’d say. There would be no semen, no physical evidence of force or rape, and Skip had a good reputation where nobody would believe Peter. But he still couldn’t take his chances. He didn’t need that kind of attention.

There was Charles to think of as well. In all of Charles’ asshole ways and problematic child-raising, he would believe Peter (but Peter didn’t have to know that). Fuck, it was because of a child that made Charles disown him as a step-son, and it was because of Peter that he wasn’t allowed at the house at all.

So, he had to be careful and see where Peter’s mind would take him. If the boy was smart, he’d be quiet.

He had a strong intuition though that Peter would stay quiet, and he’d be easy to manipulate and overpower soon enough.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” Skip mentioned while drying Peter off, repeating his sentence a couple more times until he got a response. He wanted Peter to know this wasn’t the end.

A look of dread crossed Peter’s face for a split second. It was subtle and it was quick, but it was enough to know he got the message.

Skip left the bathroom leaving Peter standing in the middle of the tile floor. He was in his room packing for only a couple minutes when he heard the showerhead turn back on, and was on his way out the door a couple of minutes later when he heard Peter scream.

A frustrated, anguished sound in distress that would make any normal person cry upon hearing it, but for Skip, it sent tingling excitement right to his dick.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to hear that scream again.

\--------

**Peter’s POV**

Skip was finally gone.

The bathroom was warm and steamy, but he was still shaking uncontrollably as his mind spiraled into panic and confusion.

He shook like a leaf in the spot where Skip left him, unraveling the tension that took over his body.

Now that Skip was gone, Peter felt himself start to hyperventilate, every inch of his body hurting from the build up of tension and emotions that were pushing to reveal their ugly heads.

_He’s gone. He’s gone and it’s okay. It’s okay it’s not my fault it’s not…_

Locking the door and grabbing a clean washcloth, Peter turned the shower handle to a scalding temperature.

He scrubbed at his skin hard till it turned red, the angry marks with the now hot water scalding him. The burning sensation was painful, but it was welcoming. At least now he could focus on the pain rather than the fondling and touching.

Tears pricked his eyes; from pain or being overwhelmed or both he didn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from scrubbing; if anything, it caused him to tear at his flesh even more vigorously till his skin was red and tender. So much so he didn’t know he was crying till he felt himself grow dizzy and sit down, letting himself break down.

Sitting there with his knees pulled to his chest, Peter rested his forehead on his arms letting feelings of shame and embarrassment came out in the form of ugly, gross sobs. Sobbing that was loud and pathetic, vocalizing all the pain and frustration and fear he felt since Skip showed up.

He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at the roots tight as he was reduced to whining and heavy breaths, his body becoming unable to keep up with his unraveling of self-control.

 

_Why’d I let it get this far? I could have prevented it. I could have stopped it._

_Y_ _ou stupid, stupid fucking idiot_.

He could still feel Skip on him. He could feel his breath, his fingers, his presence. It was too overwhelming.

His heart raced faster and his breath quickened with his heartbeat

He couldn’t think clearly, a new thought overlapping another

He couldn’t breathe

Couldn’t think

His body didn't feel solid

He was stupid

he could have prevented it

 

_stupid, stupid, stupid_

 

It was his fault

 

Skip would come back in two weeks and would continue to touch him, and Peter knew what that led to. He knew that things wouldn’t end in just touching, that things would escalate.

His emotions took over every inch of his soul, suffocating him.

 

He couldn’t do this

It hurt, he hurt, and Skip didn't even hurt him

He let down his parents and his aunt and uncle

Wade would be disappointed in him

He didn’t know what was going to happen in two weeks, but Skip would come back. And he’d do more vulgar things.

And he was so damn scared,

And he couldn’t do anything.

So he screamed.

A frustrated, helpless, distressed scream that came from his guts, ripping through his chest and throat. And still, that wasn’t enough to relieve the fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. I'm not quite sure how I did on this chapter, so any comments, good or bad are much appreciated! If you didn't like it, constructive criticism is always welcomed 
> 
> Summary:  
> Peter wakes up naked in bed with Skip. He still feels shitty and weak and tries to take a shower, but Skip won't let him. Skip manages to get Peter to submit and starts to assault him, leading to Peter freezing up and giving Skip a hand job. Skip gets them into the shower where the POV changes to Skip, revealing that he drugged Peter and fondled and fingered him while he was drugged. The chapter ends with Skip telling Peter he'd be back in two weeks, and Peter finding it in himself that he was the reason this happened to him.


	8. A Merc and a Milkshake Make Good Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's still recovering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally out! This chapter was fun to write. It's dialogue heavy, but it's exploring the relationships he has with people in his life. Hope you enjoy! This ended up being 31 pages long 
> 
> TW: Mentions of sexual assault (light), meltdown (not really a TW but adding it just in case)

Peter was exhausted. He was cried out and scared and empty.

After what seemed like an eternity of uncontrollable screaming and crying, he slowly calmed down when he couldn’t support the sobs wracking his body, leaving him curled up in the fetal position shivering and gasping for breath.

The warm water did nothing to keep the cold from seeping into his bones, making his current state worse. Turning off the water and drying off, he realized he had no clothes.

With only a towel around his waist, he strained his hearing for any sign of Skip. He didn’t know when Skip left, or if he left in the first place, and he definitely didn’t want to waltz into the living room in such a vulnerable state.

Memories of what happened flashed through his mind, making the choice to stay in the bathroom an easy one.  
  
Nestling in the corner against the wall and tub, Peter settled with his arms wrapped around his knees, towels surrounding and covering him. They didn’t keep him warm, but they made him feel a little more decent.

Not knowing if Skip left or not made the silence eery. Each creak and groan of the house made his hair stand on end and his heart skip a beat. Even when he was sure Skip was gone, he didn’t leave the bathroom. The only other secure place in this house he felt safe in was his room, but that didn’t protect him then, why would it now?

———  
He didn’t know when Charles came back or when he dozed off, but one moment he was a tense ball of nerves shaking against the wall, and then the next moment he was startled awake by a banging noise on the bathroom door. Hastily sitting up, eyes wide and breathing halted, his heart skipped into his throat and stuck there, overwhelming fear that Skip came back clouding his mind.  
  
“Peter!” Charles shouted with rage. 

  
His body ached and everything hurt, but he stumbled up and almost fell towards the door, one hand gripping his towel around his waist and his other hand fumbling with the lock, almost too shaky to grab hold of it. Before he could turn the handle, the door swung open, almost hitting him in the head hard enough that it would have knocked him out.  
  
Charles stood, bruised and cut up, his features darker than usual, but the same angry look on his face was very prominent and very intimidating.  
  
“When I call you, you _fucking_ answer!” Charles seethed, stepping forward into the bathroom.  
  
“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you!” Peter coward backwards, the room moving underneath him at the movement knocking him to the ground against the wall. Flinching in pain and squeezing his eyes shut, he held his hands in front of his face in defense as he curled up to protect his torso.  
  
“Why the _fuck_ didn’t you answer me?”

“I-I—”

He didn’t know how to respond.

Silence would inevitably cause Charles to slap him, any words would come out as an excuse, and that would come with a harsher slap, and god forbid if he pleaded with Charles, begging not to be hurt because that would end in getting punched.  
  
In the end, he came to the conclusion that he’d get hurt regardless, but silence would bring on the least amount of pain. Tensing up and covering his head with his arms, he turned his head to the side in submission, waiting with a dreaded acceptance to feel Charles grab his wrist and pull him up to hurt him, praying that the man wouldn’t resort to punching anywhere below the neck.  
  
But no pain came, and he found himself wondering why confused why Charles didn’t hurt him like usual. Anxiety filled him at the thought that there was an even worse punishment coming.

Daring to peek, Peter opened one eye to look up and see Charles’ looking at him with a death glare as if he was trying to read him. Which, in all accounts, he probably was. But his hands were still at his side, balled up into fists, but unmoving.

“Are you hurt?”  
  
There was nothing caring or nurturing in his words. His tone was gruff, and his voice sounded uncaring with suppressed anger, but Peter still couldn’t help feeling the small bit of relief that Charles was back.

 _Are you hurt?_ That was a tricky question to answer, but the right answer, the one that he thought Charles wanted to hear was ‘no,’ so that’s what he responded with.  
  
“No. I think- I think I’m getting sick. I passed out.” Peter muttered, looking anywhere but Charles as he lowered his hands and sat up straighter to save some dignity.  
  
Charles made a ‘humph’ noise in distaste. “Get up and go to bed.”

  
Peter looked at Charles who had arm hand outstretched in a gesture to help Peter up. He hesitated, noticing the blood and cuts the man had and only snapped out of his observing when Charles barked at him to hurry up. He grabbed Charles’ calloused hand, feeling a wave of nausea when the merc pulled him up too quickly.  
  
In a total 180 spin on attitude, Charles put a hand over Peter’s forehead to check his temperature; it was an innocent enough gesture, but enough to make Peter flinch, but at the same time feel a slight sense of relief that the touch was apathetic and didn’t wander, even if he didn’t like the feeling of the callous skin or the irritable feeling it left behind.  
  
With stumbling steps, Peter made it back to his room with the help of Charles, tensing more when the man walked up close behind him, worried that he'd decide to hit him from behind. He didn’t want to turn though, in case he set Charles off somehow.  
  
His voice was small with anxiety, blubbering out his words. “I’m sorry, I passed out. I didn't mean to. I’m sorry,” _please don’t hurt me._  
  
The anxiety built up at Charles’ silence, but Peter bit his tongue to keep from rambling. Once in his room, he stood awkwardly in the middle while Charles stayed in the doorway. He hesitated before getting on the bed, staring at it like it could hurt him but climbed in any way to keep Charles from suspecting anything.  
  
“Don’t let it happen again,” Was all Charles said, closing the door behind him and leaving Peter alone.

———  
He lasted less than an hour in the room.  
  
Twisting and turning, he really did try to sleep and follow Charles’ order, but everything felt wrong. His bed felt dirty; remnants of Skip was on there. Curled up, he could feel Skip behind him jacking off. Laying on his back, he relived the feeling of touching Skip’s erection, his mind replaying the scene vividly. His memory was extremely faulty, a lot of memory blanks, but the things he could remember were vivid and dreamlike as if he was remembering a nightmare and not something he experienced. But it was real enough for him to feel sick. Even his stuffed animal was cursed. Skip touched him, the one thing that Peter cared about the most, tainted.   
  
He didn’t want to be in that room more than he had to, but outside was Charles, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to face him either right now, especially since he seemed so angry earlier. And plus, he got off easy that time, he didn’t want to push his luck.  
  
An overwhelming sense of dread chased him out of the room. Ripping the sheets off his bed almost violently, he made a mad dash to throw them in the laundry along with his stuffed animal and grabbed a couple of thin, clean blankets from the living room closet and trudged to sit on the couch on his usual spot.  
  
Peter gave Charles a worried look, still scared that Charles was mad and would start yelling at him, but Charles only gave him a glance of acknowledgment before going back to his beer and whatever was on TV. It was only a quick glance, but Peter realized why Charles’ features seemed darker. Besides looking angry, his beard grew in thicker, his hair was longer, he had dark circles under his eyes, and the sickly look still showed through making his skin paler which contrasted against the dark even more. There were some new scars on his face, and his whole posture seemed to slump slightly, the exhaustion of whatever he did in the month took a physical toll on his body.  
  
He curled up in his spot with the blanket covering him from head to toe, but even that felt wrong. Images flashed through his mind of Skip’s face close to his, but he forced himself to ignore that. With a shake of his head, he burrowed his face into the blanket and laid there, blankly staring off into the darkness.  
  
He couldn’t really sleep despite being exhausted in all kind of ways, leaving him to lie uncomfortably stiff on the couch, coughing and trying to deal with a now sore throat.  
  
Just another consequence of the alcohol and being out in the cold he figured.

 

\------

“You hungry?” Charles asked, seemingly at him and not quite to him. He acted as if nothing happened earlier, and that was fine with Peter. Peter was used to it, the mood swings, and, after a while living with Charles, he realized (or, he liked to think), that that was Charles’ way of saying sorry, giving Peter something like food or a grocery trip as an act of apologizing.  
  
“Yeah.”

It just dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten all day, and maybe that was contributing to his weakness.  
  
Charles called in a pizza, something simple. He even went as far as to half-ass an apology for being gone so long and promise that he’d take Peter out to get food when he was healed. A make-up gesture for being gone for so long as Charles put it.

Peter hoped that Charles kept his promise, but he felt like it would fall through. They usually did.

 

  
He kept falling asleep off and on. It wasn’t a problem until Charles decided to go to bed, shaking Peter awake and making him go to his own room.  
  
“Can I sleep out here?” Peter asked popping his head from out of the blanket, still curled up, looking up at Charles.  
  
“No.”

“Please? I promise I'll stay on the couch.”

“I said no.”

“Why?”

“Why should you?”

“Because… because there’s a… something in my room. A mouse- spider. Something.” Peter’s heart was beating fast.

“Then kill it.”

“But—”

“Peter.” Charles’ voice was on edge.

“Please—”

“ _Peter_ ,” Charles warned, stricter this time, but no sense of anger. Just a strict, warning tone that Peter was getting close to the line of disrespectful.

Peter didn’t mean to sound whiny and childish when he asked Charles why he couldn’t, but it did, and that set Charles off.

“Because it’s not safe!” Charles took a step forward, his stance becoming more defensive. “I tell you to do something, it’s for your own good.”

Peter took a few quick steps backward, knowing he crossed the line.

“Now get to bed. I won’t say it again.”

Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for Peter.

  
\------

Peter was still on edge, and he couldn’t pinpoint why.

With Charles here, things went back to the regular boring normal, and that meant Skip wouldn’t be around. He knew Skip wasn’t here and he had nothing to worry about but unexplainable fear still settled in him. He thought he’d be happy that Charles was back and that he could sit in the same room as someone and not have to talk, but sitting with Charles wasn’t a comfortable silence like the kind he had with Wade, but it felt like he was silent because he had to be silent. He wouldn’t have talked much anyways, but he liked to have the option. He wanted to speak and wanted Charles to talk so he could have a distraction from the thoughts from his head, but every time Peter tried to make conversation Charles would answer with dead-end questions.

Between sleeping and laying on the couch, he slowly recovered from being sick and whatever the fuck happened from the alcohol. Straddling the consequences of falling asleep in some of his classes and then Charles’ wrath afterward, his life was back to normal. And he was relieved about that.  
  
He could put up with a moody, distant merc than a touchy, inappropriate college student.

\------

Pulling off being sick was easy. It wasn’t even pulling it off he did feel ill. Sick to his stomach. He slept a lot to try to get rid of the feelings, but without his stuffed animal (which was now practically flat due to the washing machine), sleeping was hard to come by.

After a lot of random stomach aches and agitation, on the fifth day since Thanksgiving, he started to feel better. Well, physically. Minus the bruise Charles inflicted on him.  
  
He wasn’t as tired and could move properly without feeling like he ran a marathon, but he wasn’t healed.

He still felt empty. Not the same kind of floaty empty he felt while sick, so he figured that was a plus, but he just felt numb. Like something inside of him was pulled making his body feel hollow. He couldn’t really describe the feeling well, and his skin still felt bad, but it was okay. Cause it had to be.  
  
Charles was home, and he had to suck it up and pretend everything was okay so Charles didn’t get suspicious and interrogate him for details. The man’s been quiet about questioning him about the past month, and Peter would like to keep it that way.  
  
Besides… what happened? _Nothing_. Nothing happened. It was just a little groping. He was making a big deal out of it and was blowing this out of proportion, but he couldn’t keep it off his mind. It was humiliating more than hurtful, but that didn’t matter. He was continuously humiliated at school, and he was able to get over that. Why couldn’t he get over this?  
  
\------

The bruise that formed on Peter’s abdomen, right under his ribs, was becoming a nasty black and blue color. It was okay though, it wasn’t the worst he’s gotten, and it was only one bruise, it would heal. The one on his arm was already, and that one seemed worse.

The sun set hours ago revealing an almost full moon, high enough to lend some of its light in Peter’s room as he laid in his bed in otherwise complete darkness. On top of the covers, he held an ice pack to the bruise underneath his ribcage, nursing the pain as he stared in the darkness, thinking about Charles to avoid the… other subject.

_I tell you to do something it’s for your own good._

He didn’t understand what the man was saying then, but thinking on it, it made sense. Charles did care. In his own way at least.

Ever since his wife died, he became more protective. He wouldn’t let Peter go outside, do things without telling him first. And when that man broke in, Charles wouldn’t let him alone in the living room anymore. Which was probably why he wouldn’t let him sleep out there alone tonight.

It sounded reasonable, and he liked to think Charles was just protecting him, but he was so cold about it and then leaving him alone for a month didn’t add up.

He hated it.

He hated that Charles was like that to him. Cold and distant and mean. He knew what Charles said about falling asleep in class would result in failure was true, and every lesson that came with a slap or hit was for his own benefit. He knew Charles only really punished him when he was bad, but even then that hurt. Falling asleep once in class seemed more of a slap kind of punishment not a punch to the gut kind. And yeah, yeah, he knew Charles was being nice to him and that Charles’ Dad would give him worse beatings for less and beat him more for nothing and that he should be thankful, and he was. He was thankful Charles wasn’t as brutal.  
  
But still, it hurt. And even though Peter didn’t care much for him, he still didn’t want to be a burden or disappointment more than he already was. Charles was still was his guardian and Peter wished he could be good enough. He wanted to talk to him, and he wanted Charles to respond. Not all the time and not like their usual surface conversations like two acquaintances would speak, but something deeper. He just didn’t know how to communicate, and he wished he could just be better at talking so Charles would listen.

At least once a month. Yeah, that would be nice.

Charles did seem a little better though, he had to admit.  
  
Besides that one time being punched, Charles didn’t touch him. Of course, Peter was on eggshells and didn’t do anything but sleep on the couch, but still, not being yelled at for being a couch potato was progress. And the fridge and pantry were stocked better, Charles letting Peter pick out half the food at the very awkward, but very needed grocery trip.

He also found a new sleeping pattern. He realized that if he fell asleep on the couch before Charles went to bed, then he wouldn’t have to deal with the memories quite so vividly before he fell asleep as opposed to if he had to fall asleep in his room. When he fell asleep on the couch, he’d always wake up in his own bed under his covers, his stuffed animal near him. He worried that Charles would get after him for falling asleep so early or make him go to his room if he felt tired, but the man stayed quiet and ignored him instead.  
  
Part of him wondered that maybe Charles just stayed up late just to humor Peter’s “silly” fear, or maybe he really was just going to bed earlier. He decided to milk the first thought since it was nicer. It couldn’t hurt to live in a dream world, could it?  
  
His dream world was nice. It was a nice escape from reality. It was a world where his aunt and uncle were alive, and he was still in his old house (he just wished he could remember their voices), and sometimes even he’d imagine his parents, giving them a voice and basing their looks off of his photo. Wade and Vanessa made multiple appearances, and even Charles came into play once in a while too.  
  
But now even his dream world was infiltrated. Every time he’d try to pick up where he left off with a dream scenario, Skip would intrude, making him hate himself for even thinking of him when thinking of people he valued.  
  
He couldn’t do it.  
  
He couldn’t focus. He thought he could forget what Skip did, and mostly he did, but the feeling and the sickness that lingered still got to him. Each day passed but the guilt and shame stayed, and he couldn’t push those away. Not as easily as the vivid memories at least.  
  
Skip was gone, but his presence was strong in the house. Even after Peter scrubbed himself raw, washed his sheets twice and then took another shower on the daily, Skip was still there. Laughing, touching, watching…  
  
He thought more about Skip. Even when he tried not to, he did, realizing that he was just overreacting. It wasn’t that bad… he was more upset at his own thoughts than the actual event at this point.  
  
He didn’t know. He felt helpless and more stupid than ever. There wasn’t any violence to make him scared like this, and there wasn’t enough done to make him overthink this much. It was uncomfortable and pushed the idea of personal space, but Skip stopped eventually and kept his side of the deal. He didn’t touch Peter after that.  
  
That touch wasn’t sexual. There was no kissing or any of the other things that were included in sex, it was just a… mutual exchange. Something that wasn’t big enough to talk about.  
  
He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to fixate on it more than he was. But he did, he worked himself up till he could feel his body want to explode with unexplainable, contained emotions before he successfully shut down, staring and feeling detached from his body.  
  
The cold drips of the now watery ice pack trailing down his hand brought him back to the present long enough for him to feel his skin to feel nothing, the ice successfully numbing the pain.

Although, he wished he didn’t ice it. He wished he could hiss at the touch, the quick breath only hurting his chest further. The pain was a good distraction from his thoughts, and admittedly and a bit shamefully, he’d press on it when the feelings of self-hatred and shame grew to be too strong. He needed that feeling of painful relief.

———  
Going back to the bar was a need for him. He needed to get out of the house, and he needed to go talk to someone. Not about what happened, but something to distract him. Yeah, that’s all he needed. A distraction.  
  
Peter walked with Charles to the bar, sluggishly trailing behind his elder. He hoped to see Wade, he waited on the stool where he usually sat and waited. And waited, and waited.

The bar noise, although loud, wasn’t that bad for him, but tonight the sounds were particularly irritating, but he could handle it.

  
  
“Alright. You’ve been staring at me for like, ten minutes now do you want to say something or are you just bored?” Weasel asked, sounding bored and annoyed. As many times as Wade assured Peter that that was Weasel’s permanent tone of voice, Peter couldn’t help but feel like Weasel actually was bored and annoyed at him.  
  
“Have you heard from Wade?”  
  
“Yeah… actually,” Weasel rubbed his neck with his hand awkwardly, “have you?”

“Was he here?”

“No… he sent a text. He get in touch with you?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Weasel said awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Not your fault.” Peter couldn’t help but sound a little condescending.

“If it makes you feel better, it was only one text, and it wasn’t even from his number.”

“Sure.”  
  
“He told me to tell you that he’s sorry he didn’t text you.”  
  
Peter furrowed his brows, resting his head on his crossed arms. It kind of hurt him that wade wouldn’t text or call him even though he promised he would. But then again, Wade was friends with Weasel much longer, so it made sense. Besides, he was just a kid did he really think he’d get the same kind of attention. But also, why didn’t Wade just text him that himself? Did Wade believe he was too young or childish to be told that to in person? He didn’t know, and he told himself he didn’t care either. Because he wasn’t dependent on Wade, and he didn’t need him anyways.  
  
Still, the thought that Wade would pass him by like that made him upset. He felt himself getting worked up, but he was able to stifle the feeling, grabbing hold of his emotions and bottling them up before they exploded.

“You look like you need a drink. Think Westcott would let you have a shot? I’ll add it on Wade’s tab.”

“I don’t like alcohol.”

“How would you know?”

“I just do.”

“Didn’t like the hangover?” Weasel arched his eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah the hangover sucked.” Peter looked sideways, watching Charles sit like stone, yet laughing, as his buddies around him were riled up.

“Hangover only lasts a couple hours, and you can just wash that away with more alcohol,” Weasel leaned over the island on his crossed arms, getting Peter’s attention. Apparently, alcohol was one of the things that got Weasel’s attention for more than five seconds.

“It lasted five days,” Peter muttered to himself, not knowing or caring if Weasel heard him or not.  
  
“Huh, must’ve been one helluva drink. Or did you down multiple shots?” Weasel narrowed his eyes.

“Three. Shots. Three shots.” Or four, he couldn’t remember.

“Five days of headache just from that? How fucking lightweight are you?” Weasel was definitely judging now.

“I don’t know.” Peter dead paned, his body tense and giving Weasel enough irritation to back off.

Weasel gave up on talking to Peter, ending their conversation with the suggestion to try and call Wade if Peter wanted to “talk to that dumb fuck” that badly.

It wasn’t the distraction Peter wanted, but it was a distraction all the same and thanks to Weasel and his god awful, monotone voice, Peter felt himself drifting off, zoning out for the rest of the night.

 

\------

It’s been days since the incident, yet he still couldn’t let it go.

He didn’t know why he was so fucking scared. He couldn’t even remember everything that happened and thinking about it more just played up the experience into something worse than it already was. Looking back though on what he could remember, Skip wasn’t even being menacing, wasn’t physically hurting him or threatening him and didn’t really restrain him when he was actually doing the things Peter didn’t like. Actually, he had hypothermia and Skip helped him.  
  
He felt silly that someone else’s dick was intimidating, but looking at the length and girth, and how it stood erect and flushed made him tremble. And the fact that Skip wanted to fuck him... no, he wouldn’t even think about that. It was stupid to be scared of something that wasn’t scary, he knew that but with the things Skip told him he wanted to do to him, how all the sexual shit Skip said included penetration, Skip’s dick seemed more like a weapon than an organ to him. Something that could hurt him.  
  
He couldn’t help but count down. 2 weeks. What happened in 2 weeks? School didn’t get out for a whole month. Well, now it was less than two weeks and he started feeling anxious. Not really scared, but just a steady form of anxiety flowing through his veins at not knowing what was going to happen. It wasn't like a movie or a book where he could skip to the end, no, he had to wait it out, minute by minute until he could find out. A part of him told himself that he needed to tell someone, but he didn't want to. That scared him. 

  
  
He needed that distraction, and _now_. Something that would get him out of the house.  
  
He was angry at Wade, but right now he was the only person he could think to talk to. Plus, he needed someone to help sew up Lee. His stuffed animal was looking real bad since the washing machine and stuffing was coming out everywhere and he was flatter than he was before.

So he called Wade, listening to the phone ring. He wondered if Wade would even pick up, or if he’d send him to voicemail. A part of him was worried that he would, but the other part was getting angry at just imagining the phone being sent to voicemail. He imagined himself giving a piece of his mind towards Wade with unexplainable anger.

He felt himself getting worked up for no reason, creating a non-existent issue (to him) in his mind when Wade answered the phone, his voice different than his usual tone. It was much more _don’t-fuck-with-me_ than aloof.

“If you’re here for Wilson then you know the drill, but,” his voice became sultry, “if you’re here for some fun lovin then you know what to do.”

“Wade?” Peter asked, confused. Wade never answered him like this. He didn’t know the drill, didn’t know there was a drill.

“Peter?” Wade’s voice changed immediately to the tone he was familiar with, yet just as confused.  
  
“Yeah.”

“Hey! Petey…” Wade chuckled awkwardly, “What’s up?”  
  
“Does Vanessa know you answer your phone like that?”

“Oh, she knows,” Wade’s voice was the usual cheerful tone. “She’s heard R rated versions, mostly by mistake but that doesn’t matter AND before you ask that was only the G rated, thank fucking Mary and Josephine.”

“Isn’t it Joseph?” Peter didn’t know his bible characters as well as he knew he should have, but he was pretty sure it was a man.

“Not in my book.”  
  
Well, that explained it.  
  
“Can… uh… can we meet? Tomorrow?”  
  
“Is everything okay?” Wade’s words were quick with concern.  
  
“Yeah, I just mmmm…” he was stupid. He was so, very _stupid_. “I just wanted to talk.”  
  
“I got some time now if you don’t wanna wait for tomorrow.”

Peter wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about or if he wanted to talk right now. He just wanted company. Someone to distract him from feeling so shitty. If he was going to use Wade for that then so be it.

“Okay. Okay, sure,” Peter nodded his head, this was a distraction. “So uh… how are you?” Peter cringed at his own lameness.  
  
“Vanessa’s great! She misses you.” Wade strategically sidestepped that question. It wouldn’t have worked, but Peter was taken aback to call Wade out.  
  
“She misses me?”  
  
“Yeppity yep! She wants to know when you’re gonna come back next. I keep telling her you’re busy with exams and all that smart shit. We were actually going to invite you to Thanksgiving! But then shit happened, and we ended up distracted.”  
  
“What... happened...” Peter wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear sex as the answer.  
  
“Well let’s just say we don’t have an apartment anymore and it was totally, 100% not my fault. Well, it was kind of my fault buuuut we don’t have to look at that percentage. Just know that I am less than 50% responsible.”  
  
“Okay?” Peter didn’t know what to do with that information. “I’m sorry?”

“For what?”  
  
“Your apartment. Or, the lack of one. What happened to it?”  
  
“It’s fine we were gonna move anyways.”  
  
“Where are you now?”  
  
“Living with Weas.”  
  
“Weasel? Really?” Peter chuckled at that image despite still trying to be upset, sobering up when he realized Weasel never shared that information with him.  
  
“Ha! No!” Wade barked out a laugh, the noise making Peter jump. “I would fucking grate my nuts with a cheese grater before I lived with that fucker. I’m at the safehouse.”  
  
It took an embarrassing second for Peter to realize that the nuts Wade was mentioning weren’t any kind of peanuts. “That would... hurt.”  
  
“It would be less painful than having to live with the greasy bastard."  
  
“Aren’t you guys best friends?”  
  
“Oh yeah. He doesn’t think so, but somewhere deep in that little grinch heart he knows I’m the bestest friend he’s got no matter how much he says we’re not. You've ever seen that movie? The animated kind not the Jim Carry one."  
  
"I don't think I have."   
  
"Well you should. There's a scene where the Grinch gets an x-ray of his heart done and his heart grows three sizes when he hears the good town's folk. That's Weasel's heart whenever he sees me."  
  
Peter didn't know how to respond, trying to comprehend what he just heard.

“Why are you so mean to him?”  
  
“Do you not call your friend's names?”  
  
“I don’t have friends.”  
  
“That’s sad.”  
  
“I mean, there’s you, I guess, but nobody my age.”  
  
“Don’t you get lonely?”  
  
“I prefer to be alone.” It was the truth.   
  
“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Just like you didn’t answer my question about your well being?”  
  
Wade laughed out of shock and pride at the comeback, making Peter feel a little good that he could get Wade to laugh and also say something worthy of Wade’s own snark. “Touché Little Petey pie.”  
  
“I hate that nickname.” Peter pouted, trying to sound angry. He was still mad at Wade, but his current anger was slowly dissipating. They carried on their conversation till Peter felt better, fully distracted and not angry anymore.  
  
“Listen, Petey, I gotta go got a call, but if you need anything, we’re just a call away.”  
  
“Mhm, you didn’t text or call me once when you said you would.”  
  
“I did? I texted you. I think? God… did I?... fuck damn god. I’m sorry, I meant to, but then the apartment shit happened.” Wade went on to explain how his phone got damaged in the accident and by the time he got it fixed his numbers were gone, and he was too worried to call in case he was mad.

“It’s fine.” Peter shrugged. It wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t really argue. He got an explanation, and it was reasonable, and he just had a nice conversation. He didn’t want to ruin it by letting his feelings get in the way.  
  
They chose to meet the next day in the park near Peter’s school after school let out. After a quick text to Charles lying that he had to do something after school (he’d come up with that lie when he had to cross that bridge), he got there later than he expected, the walk longer than he thought it was. When he calculated, he didn’t take into account his exhaustion.

 

 

\------

It was a particularly bad day. The sounds of the kids at school were exceptionally annoying, putting him on edge. Whispers made him think they were talking about him as he passed by. They probably were, but not about what he thought. Everything sounded loud. And it didn’t help that he was shoved into the lockers, the metal connecting right where his bruises were hidden.

Everywhere he turned he thought they knew. The stress and anxiety bubbled up in him, hurting him internally, making him buzz with anxiousness, like a cut wire sparking.  
  
He needed to get out, see Wade. A quiet park.  
  
  
\------  
Nearing the playground, he realized he made a mistake. The sounds of children screaming and yelling, parents talking and the other sounds like cars and birds and all different kinds of atmospheric things were quickly overwhelming, the sounds mixing together creating a slight headache. He trudged on though, trying to block out the noise, because he told Wade he’d be here, and unlike Wade, he decided to do what he said he would do.  
  
He found Wade on a bench, lounged out with his arms stretched over the top of the bench watching the kids playing on the playground underdressed for the weather. Just a muscle shirt and his denim jacket with fleece lining the neck.  
  
“Hey, Petey!” Wade’s face lit up as he waved him over when he picked up on his presence.  
  
Peter forced a small smile and sat next to Wade, leaning his back against the armrest so he could look at Wade straight on and not at the children playing in the park, unable to talk now that he was here. Damn, he was tired, but at least he knew it was just from exhaustion and not from other things.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing.” He forced out.  
  
“You sounded pretty serious on the phone and not gonna lie you look not great are you sure you’ re--”  
  
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine stop asking. Please.” Peter snapped. He didn’t want to see Wade to get grilled, he wanted a distraction. He wanted to hear Wade’s stories about his job or just life in general, but even now, Wade’s voice was grating, adding on to all the other noise hitting his brain at full speed and causing pain. The agitated feeling in his brain started stemming down his back, his arms and legs feeling uncomfortable, having to shake them to try to get the feeling off.  
  
“Fine, Fine,” Wade raised his hands in the air in defeat. “You’ll tell me though if something is really wrong though, right?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Peter didn’t know why he felt so moody now that he was with Wade. He thought he wanted to see him, but now that they were together, he just kind of wanted to be alone again. Being alone meant he didn’t have to hide or lie. Wade wouldn’t have to look at him and see what a mess he was becoming. And he was feeling overwhelmed, and he just wanted to shut himself away in a room.  
  
“Promise?”

“ _Yes_ , Wade,” he said exasperated, almost rolling his eyes. The children’s voices were screeching in his ears.

_Why were there so many sounds?_

His hands clutched together as he laced his fingers and played around with the movement, trying to ground him. He needed his stuffed animal. He needed something to hold onto his hands weren’t enough.

“You’ve gotta say it.”

“I promise, _Wade_ , that I’ll tell you something is wrong _if_ something goes wrong.”

He really felt bad that he was being such a bitch, but he really couldn’t help it. Still, though, he tried to get ahold of his emotions before they took control and something slipped.

_Fucking seagull sounding children, the cars. So many horns and cars at different speeds._

_The talking_

_The wind, the wind rustling through the leaves. Children’s laughter, Wade’s presence. The women, the high pitches of women and children_  
  
His own breathing was too much. It was too loud, too fast, even though it was his breaths he could hear them going fast yet he couldn’t keep up with the sound.  
  
Every noise sounded like dozens of TV’s on at full blast, playing different stations and switching them every second.

He could feel himself growing more anxious and stressed out, twitching and constantly moving unable to find a comfortable position.

“Peter? What’s wrong.”

  
“The wind.” He whined through gritted teeth. There was intense pressure in his head like his brain was too big for his skull, the organ pressing against the bone painfully hard till it was about to explode. It felt like it was going to explode, the pain keeping him from being able to say anything verbally or really think. Confusion and fear. He didn’t know why he couldn’t control himself. He could feel himself losing control, and he was scared. Scared that he couldn’t get this control and scared of why this was happening. It wasn’t normal, why was he reacting like this why was it hurting so fucking much.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The wind. Screaming. The wind.” Peter pressed his hands up to his ears, trying to block out the sound, gripping his hair painfully hard to relieve some of the pressure.

The sounds kept coming, seemingly louder and louder till they blended together, only certain things becoming extra loud at odd times. His ears were ringing, and his vision became blurry, the light blinding him.

He couldn’t form sentences, no matter how hard he tried words couldn’t form what he was trying to say, each time he tried it frustrated him more that he couldn’t get his point across.

_Why couldn’t Wade understand? Wasn’t the noise bothering him too?_

_It’s the fucking wind!_

“Petey I don’t—”

“Stop,” Peter pleaded, his head about to explode and Wade’s voice so close being the match that set off the bomb in his head.  
  
“What—”  
  
“Go away.”

“Peter—“

“Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up!” Peter couldn’t help but repeat, getting louder and louder each time.  
  
He got up and started walking, hands still over his ears pressing until it felt like his skull would crush, trying to go somewhere quiet. He tried breathing but it didn’t work, the emotions and feelings in him rose like a tidal wave, crashing down and amplifying the already too loud of a noise.  
  
He could hear Wade vaguely in the distance trying to talk to him, but the words were lost. His tone that was usually comforting just blended into the noise.

The pressure in his head erupted. Interrupted as strong as a volcano and crashed down on his body as hard as a tsunami. He fell to the ground and curled up in a ball and started sobbing and occasionally screaming, trying to drown out the noise with his own. Tearing at his hair and scratching himself uncontrollably, he writhed on the ground in his curled up state.  
  
A small part in the back of his mind knew what was going on, but he couldn’t think about how to stop it. All he could do was feel. He could feel himself lose control, and as hard as he tried fighting for it, tried fighting against himself to try and regain control of his body, he couldn’t. All he could do was get swallowed up by the intense, overwhelming feelings, scared and in pain.

In between the sobbing and screaming, he could feel Wade’s presence near him.

He needed him gone. He couldn’t vocalize, he only screamed louder when he felt himself being pulled up. The touch on his arm like a burn. He could feel himself being partly dragged somewhere, fear and confusion overwhelmed him.  
  
There was a door opening and he was on tile now, curled up in a fetal position with his head tucked between his arms, trying to block out all the light.

 

Who knew how much time passed.

 

  
He came out of his meltdown, regaining some senses to realize he was inside somewhere.  
  
A stall. He was in a bathroom stall on the dirty floor. But he was alone, and everything was quiet and it was nice. Nobody seemed to be in here. He kept crying, but it was somewhat normal crying as he quieted down, sniffling and wiping away tears. He was tired and his head still hurt from pressure, but another part of him felt good.  
  
He felt more relaxed. Calmer, lighter almost, but exhausted.

He didn’t know how long he sat there in silence, unable to speak or really think. It was exhausting, coming out of something like that, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them close felt good, the deep pressure around his chest calming him. He let himself stay in that position till the remaining pressure released, anxious and on the verge of passing out.

 

When he felt like he was officially done crying, he wiped the last of his tears and stood up, about to leave when he realized there was somebody else in the bathroom with him. On the other side of the door, someone was sitting there, his back against the stall door.

“Wade?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and dry.

“Yeah? Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?” There was shifting, and he could see Wade's back twisted in a way that indicated that Wade was staring at the door.

“Can-can you leave please?” Peter flushed with embarrassment. How he didn’t sense Wade’s presence before baffled him, but he couldn’t really care about that. All he wanted was Wade not to see him.

“Are you sure? I don’t think—”

“Please, Wade,” Peter begged. He didn’t want Wade to see him, and Wade’s quick talking was making his head hurt again.

He heard Wade sigh, making him feel awful. Like he hurt Wade’s feelings or something. He waited for Wade to leave the bathroom and then a bit more, exiting the stall to look at himself in the mirror.

He looked like shit. He had blades of grass and dirt on one side of his body, and his eyes were puffy and red, his nose red and face paler than usual.

_Shit._

People would see him like this. They already saw him in one of his worst states, but he didn’t want to be aware of looking as weak as he felt. He’d have to walk home like this. Embarrassment flooded him as he walked back and forth in the bathroom, counting each tile and waiting to regain some sense of integrity before he felt like he could walk out.

He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to hide away in this bathroom till everybody left, but he didn’t know how long he was in there and he had to get home before dark or else he’d have a bigger problem on his hands.

With the exception of a hint of puffy eyes and a red nose, Peter cleaned himself up as best as he could with cold sink water and paper towels and walked out as if nothing happened, looking almost normal except for the shaking hands, which he solved by stuffing them into his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from under the protectiveness of the bathroom awning to walk home when he realized Wade was still there.  
  
“You’re still here,” Peter mumbled, unable to look at Wade, humiliation and shame washing over him.  
  
“I wouldn’t leave you alone. I mean, I did but you needed to be alone, and I wouldn’t have gone far.” Wade shrugged like it was no big deal, his voice light, but seemingly forced.  
  
“Thanks.” Peter’s voice was almost as monotone as Weasel.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter said through gritted teeth, the sound sensitivity not quite relinquished as he thought.  
  
“What just happened--”  
  
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I don’t know what happened. Just… please, can we not talk about it?”  
  
His hands were shaking furiously on their own will even inside his pockets, his body in fight or flight mode.  
  
“Okay, alright. Sorry.” Wade said, his voice sounding calm and not at all hurt or sarcastic like Peter thought he’d respond.  
  
Wade continued to talk and ask questions, acknowledging Peter’s wish to avoid what just happened, but Peter didn’t really want to respond. He felt himself getting antsy, the build-up of pressure in his head was starting again and he could stave it off a bit better than before, but he still didn’t want to go through another cry fest. He’s been doing that a lot this past week, and although it helped emotionally at the moment, it hasn’t exactly been good for his self-esteem. Boys don’t cry, and yet he’s been doing a shit ton of it, and a whole damn park just watched him break down. In that alone, he wanted to fucking throw himself off a cliff.  
  
He didn’t want to be rude and ignore Wade, but his answers were short and quick. Eventually, Wade seemed to get the hint and be quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Looking at Peter once in a while.

They made it about halfway back to Charles’ house when Peter couldn’t hold himself up anymore. He would have crumpled to the ground in a shaking mess if Wade hadn’t caught him. Now, he was just a shaking mess in Wade’s arms. Despite feeling like shit, this feeling felt nice.

“Hey, hey, hey I got you,” Wade sounded panicked, holding a hand to Peter’s forehead, feeling how clammy yet cold it was.

Peter watched through half-lidded eyes as Wade took off his jacket and put it around his shivering form.

“You’ll be cold.” Peter murmured against Wade's chest, trying to push Wade away.

“Well good thing you’re keeping me warm then.” Wade grinned, finally getting one of Peter’s arms through the sleeve. The immediate warmth almost made him want to melt into the fabric.

They sat there for a minute, Peter wrapped securely in Wade’s arms as he stopped shaking, letting his body rest for a bit before Wade decided to piggy-back Peter all the way back. There was little argument about Peter walking the rest of the way which ended with Peter on Wade’s back being carried like a child. He was too tired to care.

He must have dozed off because when Wade was waking him up, Peter didn’t really remember how they got to his street.

“Thanks,” Peter murmured, jumping off Wade’s back, avoiding his gaze.

“Anytime Petey,” Wade seemed to break out of his own trance. “Text me if you need anything.”

Peter was about to bite back about Wade’s lack of texting, but he only responded with“Okay.”

 

\------

It was a much better day. Once he got sleep and rejuvenated, he felt as good as he ever got. Which wasn’t great, but it was manageable. He almost slept through his alarm, making him late for school equaling no breakfast, and lunch wasn’t that filling either.  
  
He’d think he’d be used to not having food since he went without it more often than not, but his stomach still growled painfully. There was food at the house but passing by a gas station and still having some money left from Wade and Vanessa, he bought himself some chips and Dr. Pepper.

The chips were finished long before he got back to the house and the soda was half drunk, so he thought he’d be okay with Charles not finding out about his buy. He stood in his room taking off his jacket, taking a sip of his soda when he heard Charles’ voice behind him.  
  
“Where did you get that?” Charles asked coming in view of the doorway, throwing Peter off guard at the presence.

“G- gas station,” Peter choked out, covering his mouth with his hand to keep the drink from dribbling.

“And where did you get the money?” Charles crossed his arms, voice steely.

 _Fuck_  
  
“A friend gave it to me,” Peter replied hesitantly. He wasn’t lying.  
  
“You know only a weak man uses another man’s money, right?”  
  
That hurt. It felt like a metaphorical punch to the gut.  
  
“Yes. But-“  
  
“No excuses.”  
  
“-I was hungry,” Peter trailed off, his voice small.  
  
Charles sighed, seemingly annoyed and disappointed.

“I was just going to take you out for food. But you’re already eating so—”

“No! I-” Peter interrupted, realizing his mistake and taking a few steps backward, holding his hands out like he was trying to tame an animal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just meant I’m hungry.”

“Mhm,” Charles sounded unimpressed. “Put your coat on. I’m not going to wait.”  
  
\------  
Charles took Peter to a local restaurant and allowed him to get whatever he wanted, even going as far as making conversation. Apparently, Charles really was apologizing.  
  
Usually, Peter would have jumped at the chance whenever the man put effort into the notion, any chance of being noticed, but this time, he hated it. He knew he was a shitty liar, so trying to come up with at least half-truths and keeping to the story would be hard if it came down to it.  
  
The place was dim-lit and busy; it wasn’t too loud and noisy to be overwhelming, but enough chatter that let Charles and Peter have a conversation without fear of being overheard. They got a booth in the corner, giving the illusion of privacy allowing Peter to drown out some of the noise.  
  
They didn’t make any idle conversation. Charles asked him questions about the past month, and Peter responded in short answers that couldn’t lead to following questions. Peter didn’t know what to talk about and frankly didn’t want to bother Charles any more than he already was. He stayed silent, menu in front of his face, so he didn’t have to look at the man.

Only when he picked out a few options was when he spoke up.

“Can I have the number 4?”

“What’s that?” Charles asked, looking at the healing scar on his hand rather than at Peter.

“The cheeseburger and fries.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Peter tested his luck, wondering how apologetic Charles was.  
  
“Can I have a milkshake?”

“Sure.”

“Can I have fries?”

“Doesn’t it come with the meal?”

“I mean extra fries. Only if you’ll let me, I mean, it doesn’t matter.”

“Only if you split.”

The conversation ended there. Charles looked up from his hand and crossed his arms, watching the restaurant instead. Peter sat moving restlessly. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he knew they wouldn’t get answered. At least the way he wanted them to be. He wanted to ask about Charles’ job and why he abandoned him for a whole fucking month, but that would only result in tight-lipped anger with no questions. It would be stupid to ask something that he knew would result in anger and nothing beneficial. And he wanted to talk about Skip. Wanted to ask him about him and the kind of person he was, but that would only raise questions. There were more questions revolving around Charles’ wife, his thoughts, why he kept Peter around if he seemingly hated him so much. So many questions that Peter knew he wouldn’t get answers for.  
  
They stayed quiet until they ordered and Peter got his vanilla milkshake, and the extra fries came out early.  
  
He noticed Charles watching him, judging him for just dipping the fry into the milkshake.  
  
“What are you doing?”

“What?” Peter froze, surprised that Charles initiated the conversation first. He rarely did that unless Peter was in trouble.  
  
“What are you doing?” Charles asked again, slower this time.

“Dipping a fry into the milkshake,” Peter said slowly, pausing for a minute before hesitantly offering Charles to try.

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s good.”

“That’s not normal.”  
  
“I guess.”

Charles humored Peter and tried, begrudgingly approving that it didn’t taste that bad, he just wouldn’t try it again. Peter was content enough with that response.

He thought the conversation was over until Charles surprisingly started a conversation. 

“Why did you lock yourself in the bathroom?”

“What?”

“You really need to start listening better. Can’t go through life always asking people to repeat what they said.” Charles lectured. He didn’t sound upset or angry, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling it.

“I know…” Peter's elbows were on the table so he could rest his chin on his hands. 

“So. What did I just say?” Charles leaned back and crossed his arms, he looked relaxed but Peter knew otherwise. 

“Something…” Peter bit his lip, trying to think of what he just said. He was taken by surprise he didn’t hear him! Of course, that would just turn into another lecture of working better on not being aloof, and he didn’t feel like hearing things he already knew. “You said something about a bathroom?”

“Why did you lock yourself in the bathroom.” Charles nodded, taking the answer as acceptable.

“There was a noise.”  
  
“A noise.” Charles silently demanded Peter to continue.  
  
Peter moved his hands as he spoke. “The nights were a little scary. And uh… I thought I heard a noise under my window, and so I um… got really scared, so I hid in the bathroom.”  
  
“Every night or just that night?”  
  
“Just last night.” He stopped, knowing that the answer wouldn’t be enough. To not raise alarm, he added as nonchalantly as he could, “Probably a cat or some other animal.”  
  
Charles narrowed his eyes at Peter, but Peter didn’t look away. He wasn’t looking straight into the man’s eyes, but he was trying to make sure his lie was more believable. He didn’t think Charles believed him, but he didn’t question him any further.  
  
“How did you fare for so long?”  
  
“I… managed. School kept me fed.”  
  
“And at night?”  
  
“Scary.”  
  
“Did you stay with someone?”

“No.”

“I would think before lying if I were you,” Charles warned.  
  
“Yeah…” Peter said in a defeated tone, hanging his head in shame. Jabbering, he added. “I did. But only because I was really hungry! Please don’t be angry.” Peter begged, his voice small. Partly from fear and another part not wanting to draw attention.  
  
Charles’ eyes narrowed; his expression unreadable. This dinner was becoming more like an interrogation.  
  
“I know you went with Wade.”  
  
“What? No-” He caught himself in his own lie, remembering what Charles told him just moments before.  
  
“Yeah…” Peter bit his lip. “But please, please don’t be mad at them,” Peter begged.

“Them?”

“Wade and… his girlfriend. They kept me fed and I was safe and I came back to the house every day to keep it clean and made sure I did the chores and kept the place locked up.”

He watched Charles ignore him, looking off in thought and running a hand over his mouth and chin before answering. “I’m not mad.”

Peter’s mind blanked and his mouth almost fell open in shock. He wasn’t expecting such a calm response, setting his nerves on edge.  
  
“I’m not fond of Wilson, but if he took care of you, then I’ll make my peace with it.”

  
Peter let the words sink in. He tried remembering the last time Charles said something like that. Something caring like a caring person would say. It was before his wife died. He almost forgot hat Charles could be kind and quiet, and not just angry. He wondered what was different. It couldn’t have just been some revelation from the job. He was sober.  
  
Sober Charles was caring, and Peter wished Charles would be like that more. He knew there was a kind man deep down.  
  
“Why don’t you like him?”  
  
“He’s dangerous. It’s not good being around him for a long time.”  
  
“He’s not dangerous around me,” Peter defended.

“People get hurt when they’re with him too long. Kid’s included.” Charles’ voice became stern.

“What do you mean?” Peter’s voice was hesitant on the child mention, but he still felt loyal to Wade despite his current feelings for the man, “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Only if they’re bad. And he keeps people safe if they’re innocent.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer to Peter, a deadly look on his face. “Ask him about a girl named Ellie.”  
  
“Why?”

“If you don’t think innocent people die in the line of fire, then your view on the world is still severely limited.”

“He’s my friend. I know he wouldn’t do that.”

“Not everyone you kill is intentional Peter.”

“How would you know?” Peter asked as politely as he could, trying to keep the sarcasm and defensive tone to a minimum.

Charles didn’t respond to that question, starting a new conversation.  
  
“Don’t you have friends your own age to play with?”  
  
Charles said the word ‘play’ as if Peter was still five and learning the ropes of the world. He hated feeling undermined as a child. He was pretty sure he knew how the world worked. Of course, there was more to learn, but he was confident that he was pretty worldly.

“I can have friends?”

“What kind of question is that?” He asked gruffly.  
  
Peter winced. Charles sounded like he was already on edge and sick and tired of talking to him. His voice was always blunt and harsh, so it was hard telling when he was actually upset or just casual conversation. He could already hear the criticism, but he couldn’t pick up on anger. Just because he couldn’t pick up on it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He made bad misjudgments in the past.

“I mean… I don’t know…. I just thought… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just meant… can I have friends?”

“Friend’s aren’t something you can buy.”

“I know, “  
  
“Why the fuck are you asking permission to have a friend then?”

I just…” He felt stupid now, “Can I… do stuff with people? Outside of school?”

“You always could.”

“Really?” Peter furrowed his brows. He always had the impression that Charles wouldn’t allow him to hang out with kids after school or let him make friends in general.  
  
“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

“Do you not have friends at school?”

“Not really.”

He wanted friends his age, but he didn’t know how to make them, and everybody thought he was weird and nobody seemed interested enough in him to want to be friends with him. The neighborhood kids were too wild and loud for his liking and Charles always warned him against them. Said they were no good or anything. Even when he did try to talk to someone the mention of Charles scared them away. He supposed he just made the connection that Charles didn’t think friends were good for him. And that he wasn’t allowed to have friends. Even if he did have a friend, he couldn’t bring them over. It would be too awkward.

“Why not?”

“I don’t fit in. They ignore me.”

“Have you tried talking to the other kids?”

“No...”

“Then there’s your problem.”

Peter was silent for a moment. Charles was right.

“So I can have friends?” He just wanted to clear the air, just in case.

Charles sighed, seemingly a little done with the conversation. “You were never not allowed to have friends. As long as you tell me who they are and where you’re going to be with them if you’re not at school. You can talk to or where you go as long as you tell me first and make sure I know where and when you go places at all times and be back by dark. If you don’t then you’re in big trouble, understand?”

 

Peter nodded his head. That’s the most he’s heard Charles talk in one go in a long time, the words getting lost in his mind, not quite entirely able for process each sentence, but he got the general gist.  
  
“Can Wade be my friend?” Peter asked after a moments silence.

“I thought he already was.” Charles looked up quickly, annoyed.

“He— I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I don’t.”

“Then—”

“Sometimes you need to learn to shut up and leave the conversation when it ended.”  
  
Peter flinched, knowing he took it too far. That he disappointed Charles again. He felt like shit, and the food wasn’t even out yet. It was going really well before he inevitably fucked it up. Like he always did.  
  
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, but the food didn’t taste good anymore, the disappointment and guilt of making Charles mad when he was being kind to him resting heavily on top of his only half-full stomach, making him feel a little sick.  
  
Overall, though, he’d consider this night to be pretty successful, and he enjoyed the majority of it. 

 

\-------  
His anger towards Wade was gone, almost. It still bothered him that Wade didn't hold up his side of the deal, but it was past news and he didn't want to get hung up on something so small, but he realized he wanted Wade to stay in his life. Talking to Charles about friends made him think about his relationships with people and how they were pretty non-existent. He didn’t need friendships he felt fine without them, but now, when Wade showed up, he was his first real friend he supposed since he was… eight? Nine maybe?

Before, he had no friends, so he didn’t feel like he was losing anything, just missing out on something he wanted. But now he had something he wanted, a friend, and he didn’t want to lose him on something so stupid.  
  
After school, he sent a quick text to Charles to tell him where he'd be as he walked the distance to get to Wade’s safe house wearing Wade’s jacket, hanging out across the street looking over at the small building that stood as a safehouse. The light was on, so somebody was home at least. He knew he was extremely awkward just standing there, but he was hesitant. He didn’t tell Wade he was coming over and didn’t know if Wade wanted to even see him. And he wasn’t exactly over the embarrassment of Wade seeing him cry, but he needed to patch things up before he could fuck things up more. He couldn’t wait. Also, he really needed his stuffed animal in the 3D form again and was hoping that one of them could possibly help him with that.  
  
Time went by, and Peter finally decided to call Wade, asking if he could come over.

“Hiya Petey, what’s up?”

“Can I come over?”  
  
“Sure, I was wondering when you were gonna walk across the street,” Wade laughed.  
  
“What?” Oh…” Peter looked over, his face warming up in embarrassment at seeing Wade waving at him from the window.  
  
Peter walked across the street, antsy at what he was going to say, realizing he didn’t know exactly what he was going to say. Wade greeted him as happily as ever, letting him in and offering him anything he needed.  
  
“You could have mac n’ cheese, but then again I don’t know how long that’s—”

“I’m sorry!” Peter blurted out, eyes going wide in surprise at his own exclamation.  
  
Peter took a deep breath, deciding to just get it over with. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the other day. I know... I know I was mean and you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry you saw me… cry, and… and I understand you’re probably weirded out by me now and.... and don’t want to see me, but I just wanted you to know it wasn’t your fault I don’t know what happened I was just having a bad day and uh, here’s your jacket,” Peter started taking the jacket off, fumbling with his arm in his sleeve. “Thank you for this it’s really comfy but it’s yours, and I washed it last night so that’s why it might smell different but-“  
  
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Wade’s arms were crossed, but his face looked amused more than anything.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey, don’t be sorry.”  
  
“Sorry- _shit!_ ” Peter muttered under his breath.

Wade chuckled a before getting back to business. “You can keep the jacket. It looks better on you anyways."

  
"Are you sure?" Peter had it in his outstretched arms, but Wade pushed it back towards Peter gently, assuring him that yes, Peter could keep it.

"Can I ask what that was though?”  
  
“I don’t... I don’t know.”  
  
“Was it a panic attack?”  
  
“What's that?”  
  
“Oh, Petey…” Wade mocked disappointment before explaining what a panic attack was, answering any questions Peter dared asked without sounding stupid. It sounded right, but some things didn’t match up. He was just left more confused, but he didn’t want to ask any more questions.

"Do you know what triggered it?"

“I don't know, everything?” Peter shrugged helplessly knowing that wasn't the right answer. “The noises?”  
  
“Ah, okay,” Wade nodded his head like people do when they pretend to understand something when they clearly don’t. “Too loud?”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“Happen often?”  
  
“Kind of. Not much now. Usually, I get away from the noise before it becomes worse.”

“Noted.” 

“Anyways, uh, I actually came for something else.” Peter laced his fingers together, twisting them anxiously. 

“Got another apology to spout? Cause believe me, Petey, you could do anything, and I’d forgive you before you even got the chance to say sorry.” Wade placed his hands on his hips as if that confirmed what he was saying. Peter didn't believe him, but it was a nice statement all the same. He'd take it. 

“Thanks, but no. It’s my stuffed animal. It got ripped and flattened, and I was wondering if you or Vanessa could sew it back together.”

“Sure! Vanessa can help you, she’s better at sewing that kind of stuff better than me anyways. And she misses you, but I already said that.”

“She still misses me?”

“She never stopped.” Wade winked.

 

\------

Wade invited Peter in and they played a game of poker using different lengths of torn up bits of Twizzlers until Vanessa arrived home.

Peter noticed she looked tired, but her face instantly lit up when she saw him, her soft smile making her glow despite the dark circles forming under her eyes and the worn down posture she carried herself with. It looked like she just came back from her job at the club. Underneath her jacket he could see her black leather outfit that hugged her form. In conclusion, it looked nice, but uncomfortable.

He felt terrible that he was asking her of something when she was so tired, and he assured her that he could come another day, but Vanessa didn’t take no for an answer, intent on making sure he knew he wasn’t a burden and would help him.

After Vanessa changed into lounge clothes, they sat on the couch while Wade went out; Peter curled up in his usual position at the end of the sofa with Vanessa sitting cross-legged, her body fully turned towards him, cutting up a pillow and used the soft, polyester fiber to stuff his bear with.

He watched her cut the pillow up, wishing he could photograph this moment. She looked peaceful and relaxed as she got her supplies ready for the fluff transplant. Her hair up in a messy bun and shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders and almost covering her shorts. It was domestic. He wanted to tell her that she could be a model, that she was naturally pretty like that, but he kept his mouth shut. Even to him, that would be weird to say he thought.

“So, does the bear have a name?” Vanessa asked, examining the sad looking beast and the spot where he was torn.

“It’s Lee.” Peter almost choked on the name. In hindsight, he realized it was a stupid name, and he didn’t have a real reason why he named it that. He didn’t consciously call the bear Lee, it was just a name that stuck and didn’t get changed. Mostly because he didn’t want to change it by the point he realized he hated it.

“Nice name, it fits him.” She picked up scissors and started cutting along the seam that was torn.

 _No no. No, that’s not what was supposed to be happening._ She was supposed to sew him together not cut him open more! Peter’s heart raced, and he was low key panicking, knowing one wrong slip and that bear would be worse off than he was now.  
  
“What- what are you doing?” Peter stumbled over his words, trying not to let his panic be heard.

“I’m cutting the seam open a little more to get more stuffing in, don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” She sounded confident enough. Still, though, Peter couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to rest until he saw results.

“So, I heard you and Wade spoke earlier this week?” Vanessa asked, her voice still strong and alluring, yet concerned.

“Yeah, we did for a little bit.” Peter couldn't stop staring at the incision Vanessa made, fixating on that the entire conversation. 

“Did he do or say something to make you upset?”

“Why?”

“He said you sounded a little tense.”

It was the lack of saying something, but he wasn’t going to mention that. “No, it wasn’t him.”

“You sure?”

Peter didn’t have it in him to lie a second time. He didn’t know if complaining to the girlfriend about the person he was about to complain about was the smartest idea, so he stayed quiet, hoping she’d let it go. Of course, and he should have known this, she didn’t.  
  
Without looking up, she assured him. “You can talk to me you know, I won’t get mad.”  
  
“He said he’d call or text me, but he didn’t. It’s not that big of a deal. ”

“When?”

“Before Thanksgiving, right after I left here.”  
  
“It was a big deal though. Wasn't it?"  
  
"...yeah... kind of... just a little bit...not really—"

"Listen, Peter,” Vanessa sounded like she was going to give a lecture, and Peter braced himself for getting called out on his immaturity. “If it bothers you this much you should talk to him about it. He’ll understand.”

“I did.” Peter was taken aback. Being told to bring up his problems to an adult wasn’t something he was used to.  
  
“What did he say?”

“He’s sorry and he wouldn’t do it again.”

Vanessa sighed, and Peter wondered if it was because his short answers were annoying her or she finally got tired and bored with having to put up with him. “Wade, he’s... he says he won't do things again, but sometimes he does. I'm not saying don't trust him. He's a pretty trustworthy person, but he's bad at committing to the "small things". It's a bad flaw, but he's learning. He’s learning, much better than when I first met him, but he does that. To everyone, including me. Makes me want to punch him sometimes."  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
"Hold him to his faults. Him not texting you, it made you feel bad?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't tell him though! I don't want him to feel bad."

"I won't, but you know you can call him out and tell him? He’s just another human, he makes mistakes, believe me, he makes A Lot of mistakes.”

“Like the apartment?”

“Yeah. I’m still mad about that. What did he tell you?”

“It was less than 50% of his fault.”

She looked up with a hard look in her eyes that intimidated Peter. “It was way more than 50% his fault.”

“Oh.” Peter furrowed his brows, wondering what the hell happened. 

“What I’m saying is, don't be afraid to hurt his feelings. He cares about you and wouldn't get hurt. He’s willing to listen and learn from his mistakes.”

“He told me his phone got damaged, and by the time he got it fixed his numbers were gone, and he was too worried to call me back in case I was mad at him.” Peter stared at the couch cushion, his heart beating rapidly and a little overwhelmed at this conversation. 

“Excuses excuses,” Vanessa tsked, rolling her eyes dramatically. Peter couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“He’s a coward.”

That threw Peter off. “He’s not a coward.”  
  
“Okay, maybe coward is too strong of a word, but he’s got issues. He’s got his own insecurities whether or not you see them or not they’re there, and he can’t keep running away from his problems. As I said, make him face them. If he’s done something to you that you don’t like, then hold him to it and tell them what you think."

Peter nodded, listening to every word. Nobody told him before to stand up to an adult, they’ve always told him to respect them no matter what. This was new information, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

  
They carried their conversations to lighter topics until Vanessa finished re-stuffing.

“There, I think he’s pretty stuffed.”

“Wow,” Peter didn’t remember the last time that bear had volume to its form.

“Try it out, is it too stuffed or not stuffed enough?”

Peter held it. It was a little too stuffed, but he didn’t want to say anything, even though they just had a conversation about Peter telling how he feels, he still felt like it was rude not to accept something someone did for him. Vanessa already did more than she needed to.  
  
“Something in your face tells me it’s not what you want.” She arched her eyebrow.  
  
“It’s uh… it’s a little… too stuffed,” Peter mumbled, quickly adding, “But it’s great, thank you. Thank you so much for doing this it’s fine as is. Really, it’s great, it’s—”

“I can take the stuffing out that’s no big deal.”

“Oh… if you don’t mind… thanks.” Peter looked at the thin rug on the floor at the scissors, noticing some small bullet sized holes and dried up looking blood.  
  
“So, do you want me to?” Vanessa held out her hand.

“Yes please.”

  
Vanessa looked pleased with his response and took stuffing out in little increments, letting Peter hold him until it satisfied his touch, sewing him back together when Peter gave her the go ahead.  
  
Peter was in awe of Vanessa. She was incredible, and almost everything that came out of her mouth was just wisdom. She was a goddess- no, an angel. Goddesses weren’t good, well, it depends on which goddess of which kind of religion, but that didn’t matter. She was an angel, period.  
  
He wondered—  _no—_  he knew she would have some wisdom to say about what happened with Skip. And he had a week left before... _something_ happened, and he was sure she'd have guidance too.

“Hey, uh…” Peter started. But as soon as she looked at him, the words got stuck and died in his throat. He didn’t want to bring it up. He was too scared she’d see him differently. Right now he was just some person, some kid Wade picked up at a bar. He was just Peter to her. He didn’t want to become the weak, paranoid foster kid who had a bad time with his foster person’s half son. And besides, if he told her then she’d tell Wade and Wade would tell Charles and then trouble he didn’t want to deal with would happen.  
  
“Thanks,” he choked out.  
  
She gave him a sweet, closed mouth smile, her voice becoming motherly, “No problem. Anytime. If you want to talk about anything, just let me know. You have my number?”

Peter nodded his head. There were a lot of things he wanted to talk to her about, he just didn’t know how to without feeling scared. Not to mention ashamed.

 

\------  
The next week went by just fine.  
  
He reconciled with Wade and his stuffed animal was good as new, the stitching wasn’t even noticeable. He was able to push aside the memories and feelings until they only invaded his life for seconds before he ignored them. This was good, this was progress, he thought. It was the past, and he could move on, and he could forget—well, he couldn’t forget, but he could pretend like it didn’t happen.  
  
He left school, the day particularly cold enough to see his breath form in front of him, expecting his day to go as scheduled aka lay in bed for a bit, do his homework, watch TV, and then go back to bed.  
  
But no, this time, he walked out and was barely out of sight of the school when he ran into Skip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a monster to write and edit. I keep saying I'll make them shorter, but there's a lot to unpack in each chapter. I hope you guys are still enjoying this story, and I can't say how grateful I am to everyone who has commented and kudos-ed this piece. It really means a lot to me and keeps me motivated to keep this story alive. 
> 
> Question: Do you guys like these long chapters or should I break them up/shorten them?
> 
> ALSO: It's summertime! I'll take prompt requests. I do mostly Peter, Wade, Tony dynamics, but I can write anything and have no limits on what I would write (more info on my tumblr)


	9. As The Equation Decides What It Wants And What It Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted so close to each other? Wow.   
> Another dialogue heavy chapter. Future chapters so far won't be so heavy with dialogue. Hope you enjoy this one though!

(1 day before Thanksgiving)

 **Vanessa’s POV**  
“What have I told you about keeping propane next to the stove, Wade!” Vanessa yelled, pacing back and forth across their burnt floor. 24 hours of cooped up fear and anger were pouring out in ugly ways. 

“To be fair, I thought the cap was screwed on!” Wade wasn’t yelling, but his voice was definitely raised in a defensive tone.

Vanessa and Wade didn't have full blown arguments much, but when they did it wasn't over petty things, like blown-up apartments and an almost dead boyfriend, for instance. They were already arguing before walking into their dilapidated home. The tension started at the hospital, but the yelling came out sometime around halfway Vanessa was driving them home.

Wade stood against the wall with the hole in it, giving her space to be angry. That, and he also learned that an angry Vanessa isn’t somebody you wanted to cross paths with.

“I forgot, _okay_? _God_ , it’s the medicine fucking with my brain, what’s the big deal?” With the way Wade froze and looked like his mind was backpedaling, Vanesa knew he knew the question was a bad one as soon as he said it.

Alright, he may have been a little out of it and hyped up on medicine from a previous wound to keep him out of pain, but that didn’t stop Vanessa from giving Wade an earful of angry and upset rants. Were they stemming from the fear of losing him? Probably, and was she relieved that he was alive? Most definitely, but it didn’t excuse the fact that he was so careless and almost died, again.

“What’s the big deal? The big _deal_ is we don’t have a home anymore, you fucking blew half of it off!”

She wasn’t here when the place blew, but Wade was. He got out mostly unscathed except for a little burn on his arm and right side but other than that he was fine.

“You could have died!”

“But I didn’t."

He wasn’t getting the point.

“God. You can be so fucking _stupid_ sometimes,” Vanessa ran her fingers through her hair, shards of glass from the blown-out window crunching underneath her boots. This was the second time a propane accident happened. Just that this time it ended with firefighters, policemen, ambulances, and a whole day in the hospital getting patched up.

“I know, I know we had a deal to keep my ‘work accessories’ kept away, but honestly, I was going to throw it out anyways.”

“But you _didn’t_.” Vanessa hissed. That wasn’t the point, but she was angry enough to throw that mistake in his face.

"I thought it was empty!”

“It’s not about that. You could have died. Does that mean anything to you?” She was thankful that he was alive, she really was, but right now what she wanted to do was kill him herself.

“I know, I-"

“I don’t think you do know. When you die, Wade, you _die_. There’s no coming back from that.”

“You don’t think I don’t know that? I watch people die almost every day, I understand what death is.” Wade narrowed his eyes and for the first time since they started bickering, his voice had a cold edge. The anger in his tone didn't deter Vanessa though. Not anymore at least.

“Then why are you so careless?”

“I’m not careless.”

“Yes, you are. You don’t care about your safety. You’re reckless, irresponsible, don’t care about yourself, you-you-" She felt her heart beating faster and her body start to shake at the ideas of him getting fatally injured.

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

She stopped pacing back and forth, looking out the soot-stained window- or- what was left of it.

“I don’t know. Stop leaving your shit out? Be more responsible?” She walked towards him angrily, her mind muddled with questions about their present and future racing across them.

She could feel an anxiety attack starting, her words dying in her throat and her body trembling.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Wade spurred into action, stepping close to her without touching her. Letting her know he was here without being too personal. “Just breath, okay? Focus on something.”

Wade motioned Vanessa to sit, sitting across from her while she forced to control her breathing, focusing on the floor and all the little indents in them. They stayed like that, Wade kneeling in front of her and her sitting cross-legged bent over with her head in her hands till she felt like she could breathe normally and her trembling wasn’t as bad.

“I get it. I could have died, and I should be more aware of the shit I get into.”

Vanessa nodded her head, agreeing with him silently.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked again when she regained composure, and, after a moment’s pause without her answering, (mostly because she was thinking), he added, “Do you want me to leave?”

She jolted up to look at him, already standing up to walk away.

“No, no, don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave,”

He stood there with his hands in his pockets, not looking at her but at the hole in the wall as if he wanted to walk out of it right then and there. No, she didn’t want him to leave because she was scared he wouldn’t come back. Years ago, when they first met, she would have been paranoid and scared that he’d leave to let his problems out with another girl, but now she knew he wouldn’t leave her for someone else, but because the guilt would drive him away. He took leaving as a permanent means, not just to leave and come back some hours later. Something she found out the hard way. A fault of his that annoyed her, but a fault that was embedded in him through childhood, and she was willing to work with him on it.

She stood and walked towards him, taking his hands in hers until he looked at her.

“I just-” She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “-need to be alone for a bit. And for you to keep to your side of the deal.”

“Okay,” Wade nodded. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” Vanessa nodded, watching him step through the hole.

“I am sorry,” He sounded genuinely remorseful, “And I promise, I’ll be back.”

“I know.” She said void of emotion. 

Vanessa could only pray that he would.

\-----------------------

After Wade left, Vanessa started cleaning up debris to help calm her down. Cleaning always did help keep her from breaking down.

It was just an apartment. They’d find a new one, it wasn't the end of the world... it was no big deal! But this place meant a lot to her, which meant a ton since she grew up learning not to be attached to anyone or anything, always to move on. But this place, this studio apartment was the first place Wade and she bought and settled down in. They could actually unpack their boxes and make it their home, the first sense of normalcy in her life where she knew she could come back to a place without worrying about being evicted, and knowing she can come home to someone who loved her for her and protected her without any strings attached.

And now?... Now they would have to spend days salvaging what was spared and find someplace new to live in, and she hated apartment hunting.

She thought of their future and the house hunting business, and she thought about the future of them, not just the apartment, but how many it could hold. Thoughts ranged from the want to get another studio apartment out of the need for familiarity, but another part of her thought it would be wise to think about her future and the children that Wade and she would eventually have. That maybe looking for a two bedroom apartment, or even a small house wasn't such a bad idea. Her thoughts wandered to Peter, too, and how if he visited overnight or just for a while, they would have a guest bedroom for him if he was still in the picture. Or the room could be used for a nursery.

She imagined painting a nursery, being pregnant and all that fun stuff. Both her and Wade wanted kids, but they couldn’t find the right time to raise a child from a baby. And then she started thinking about Peter again.

When she got the text from Wade saying he had Peter and was at the safe house, she had to come. She wanted to meet this child for herself. The way Wade would light up when he talked about him already told her he valued this kid, possibly adored him. And from listening to Wade talk about Peter, she felt, in an odd way, like she already knew the child before she even met him.

And when she saw him standing in front of her, she could tell he was scared and uncertain. He had every right to be. New place, a stranger on the couch… it was completely understandable. She just remembered those wide, scared puppy-dog eyes looking at her and she already fell in love. She felt like she knew him already because of all the talking Wade did about the kid, and turns out he was just like Wade said he was: quiet, polite, mumbled a lot, and his answers were short and timid.

Then Wade walked in, and she noticed how Peter’s body perked up slightly before falling back into his former position, still a little tense, but clearly excited and a little relieved. Apparently, the adoration between the two was mutual.

Watching Wade interact with him made her fall in love with Wade more somehow.

She didn’t fall in love with Wade because of his status, or his good looks or his abilities in bed (although that was a big plus), no, she fell in love with Wade because of his personality. Underneath his exterior and cocky attitude, there was a sweet, kind heart. She never saw him with a child, but the way he talked about them, came home from missions that involved children, he was always so protective. He loved them, so seeing him interacting, making this child laugh and banter, it was nice.

It didn’t pass her or Wade's observation when they noticed Peter slowly coming out of his shell. He wasn't as scared of expressing himself, although there was clearly a strong wall he built around himself that was holding him back, and he became bolder and enunciated with his words. Not to mention the kid was smart as hell. He didn’t flinch as much as he did in the first few days. She remembered what Wade warned her about Peter and touch, how it hurt if the contact came from someone he was uncomfortable with or didn’t trust. So seeing him snuggled up to Wade, curled up into a ball and asleep, was really an eye-opener to just how much Wade meant to the kid.

But there was something Wade didn’t mention. Peter was hurting.

She could see that Peter was scared, but underneath that fear was a pain and not the physical kind. She saw it in his body language and his eyes. It didn’t pass either of them when they would have fun, even if they were all laughing and having a good time, a sad look would cross his face before he hid it. He was probably remembering something. Hurting in a way that words couldn’t describe the emotions. He was missing someone that wasn’t here. Maybe it was his family, or someone else, but he was hurting. And she wanted to know what was on his mind, but it wasn't her business and wasn't about to ask Peter to spill his secrets out to her. If Wade knew, he didn't tell her.

But Peter. God, that kid had an impact on her more than she thought some strange kid would. Maybe it was because of Wade's enthusiasm or because Peter wasn’t a stranger, or perhaps it was both, but after Peter was gone, the atmosphere was different.

It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed her mind, but when Peter was gone, and life went back to normal, it felt strangely vacant. Even the studio apartment her and Wade shared felt empty.

She knew Wade felt it too when they sat together in those rare silent moments, the silence felt ten times louder. They’ve brought it up non verbally when they tried to break that silence with other conversation, but by their awkwardness, they both felt it. And they talked about it, laughing it off with the conclusion they don’t have guests over enough to be used to another presence. But they deep down both knew that wasn’t the case. With Peter here, it was a little sneak peek at how it would be with a child in the house full time, and they wanted that.

But then Wade had to be responsible. And she had to mature in her own ways too, because what if the kid was there when something happened? Wade knew how to dodge danger, but the child may not, or wouldn’t be old enough to.

She believed in Wade though. She knew that if there were a kid involved, he’d be more responsible and hold himself to higher standards.

\------

Hours passed when Wade came back. She was sweeping up the floor when she heard Wade’s footsteps in the hallway, entering in silence in respect for her. Behind her, she could feel Wade’s presence come close, stopping at a respectable distance.

“You came back.” Vanessa looked at him matter-of-factly, taking the dustpan full of glass and dumping it in a trash bag.

“Always for you,” Wade gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, still worried that Vanessa was mad at him.

“Mm so cheesy,” She smiled, relieved. “C’ mere,” She walked over to him and giving him a hug.

He pulled her a little closer to him, testing his boundaries, and she let herself be pulled into his embrace.

“I am sorry,” Wade mumbled softly in her hair, giving her a small kiss on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her, “I knew this place meant a lot to you.”

He tightened his grip and held her close. She couldn’t help resting her head against his chest, letting herself sway with the slow movement Wade set as he rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. He smelled like Mexican food he gunfire. An odd combination, but it was familiar and safe. 

 

\------

They may not have the big Thanksgiving dinner they were planning, but it didn’t deter their fucksgiving fest. She and Wade just had to get creative. And what’s a relationship without creativity?

 After a night out on the town getting an expensive meal and acting like two teenagers in love, they stumbled back into their little safehouse, not noticing the small footsteps that were imprinted on their front step only 15 minutes prior. 

Making up and making out they laid sprawled out on the bedroom floor, half-drunk from the sex they just had and the bottle of vodka they were currently sharing.

Wade’s skin still might be tender, and his bullet wound may still be healing, but his little soldier was working right and ready and that was all that was needed so Thanksgiving was full of stuffing and meat, and not the chicken kind but the sausage, and maybe the sausage did a little bit of stuffing if you get the drift.

“We can look for a new studio apartment if you want or take our chances and try to beg and plead to keep the one we already don’t have. I’ll get on my knees and blow the man, but guessing how we’ve set the fire alarm off too many times, I’m sure they want us gone.” Wade said, tilting his head up enough to take another sip of alcohol.

“You know… what if we get an actual apartment? A two bedroom two bathroom kind of deal.” Vanessa asked, looking up at the dirty ceiling, looking at patched up areas where bullets created holes, and areas where the ceiling was cracking. This place was absolute shit.

“Oh, so now you want a room to yourself, I see how it is.”

Vanessa and Wade broke out into laughter, tears leaking out of squinted eyes from toothy grins as they giggled at the joke that was only funny when drunk.

“I was just thinking of, you know, the future. We’ve been together for what, three, four years now?” Vanessa sighed when the giggling ceased.

“Around that, if you’re counting the whole year we fucked like little bunnies before being serious.”

“I’m just saying, what if we… expand the family?” Vanessa turned her head to look at Wade, who’s face went blank.

“Is this your way of saying that your grandmother wants to come live with you?”

“No?” she furrowed her brows and pursed her lips, “my avó (grandmother) is dead. You've been drinking too much. I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“You want a pet? Cause I don’t know why we’d need a whole room for them and trust me those bitches are trickier to take care of than—”

“No…”

Wade was silent for a second, thinking before his eyes got wide. “Oh, fuckcicles, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“ _No!_ ”

“Well, I’m lost. Clearly, the three most obvious answers are wrong.” Wade said, but Vanessa felt like he kind of knew where she was headed.

“I’m talking about kids.”

“What about baby goats?”

“Wade.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be serious.” Wade raised his hands up, forgetting he had a bottle still held in one of them, accidentally spilling some vodka on his wounds, cursing like a mad man at the pain.

“Kids? Really?” Wade’s voice was about two octaves higher from suppressed pain as he got up to pat himself down with a towel.

“You wanted them too, right?” Vanessa rolled over on her side, propping herself up on one arm.

“Of course! But… now?” Wade looked extremely uncomfortable, but this was a conversation Vanessa wanted to have, and it was also showing where they were in their relationship.

“Not now, well, _maybe_ now, I’m not sure, soon though.”

“Why?”

“Why not? We’re not getting any younger, and we’re looking for a new place we could just look for a place where we could put a kid when we need too so we don’t have to apartment hunt again. If you don’t blow the next one up before a kid happens,”

“See, that sounds like a good idea, but unfortunately, you’d have to do that alone since your passive aggressiveness just killed me.”

“Wade, focus.” Vanessa got up to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Fine. So, you want to get pregnant?” Wade sighed in defeat, sitting next to her. 

“Well, not quite…”

“What do you mean?”

“Peter.”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t have a home.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s a foster kid.”

“So…”

“I know you’re not this stupid.”

“I really am. I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” Wade sounded panicked.

“I think you do,” Vanessa said slowly, sobering up a bit to keep her boyfriend from freaking out.

He nervously chuckled. “Vanessa…”

“I’m not saying you have to decide now,” Vanessa added hastily, standing up, “It’s crazy, I know. And I know I just hit this on you, but Wade, think about it. He’s an amazing kid, and we’d be able to give him so much.”

“We- he- he can’t be part of this life.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe. To bring a kid into our life? As fucked up and dangerous as it is? I can’t do that.”

“I know it sounds scary and yeah our life isn’t the most secure, but we could change some things. It’s just… I really love that kid.” Vanessa's head was spinning. She knew she could form a better argument sober, but right now she could only think of adoption and Peter and house hunting.

“I do too, and that’s why I can’t let him into this house. He’ll get hurt.”

“He could get hurt with someone else too.”

“No, but he could die. I could do something stupid, and he gets kidnapped and- and he could get hurt. Or someone could use him as leverage and find hi and- and I’m sca— I don’t know if I could protect him.”

“This isn’t nine years ago,” She reached a hand out to grab his. She knew what he was referencing, cursing herself internally. How could she forget something like that? She felt awful. “That wasn’t your fault either.”

“Yeah, but I told myself nothing would happen, and something happened.”

“Does he remind you of her?” She was referencing the first child he attached to. Some little girl named Ellie. She didn’t know much about her or how Wade knew her specifically, but Wade talked about her once or twice, and he’d get real sad about it and close in on himself for a couple of days before he could pull himself back into the light.

“No! No-" Wade chuckled to himself, "-he’s nothing like her. If I gotta compare, they’d be as different as the sun and moon. Peter being the moon, you know, for reasons.” Wade sighed, “But I can’t go through that again. If possible, I care about Petey more, and if something happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Vanessa felt like she just ruined the entire evening. They were having fun, and she messed up.

“Hey, don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault.” Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulders to bring her closer to him in reassurance. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Alright, but you tell me if it does.” She pokes Wade’s chest.

“Will do, captain.”

“But regarding Peter. Please, just think about it.” She whispered.

“I will, but I can’t promise I’ll give you an answer you want.”

 

Vanessa was okay with that answer. It was solid.

 

\------

**Wade’s POV**

Wade wouldn’t know what he would do without Vanessa. He couldn’t even imagine his life without her. She made him such a better man and looking back, he realized just how far he’s come. He wanted a future with her, but he was scared. He wanted to give her the world, and ideally, he wanted a family with her. He loved the idea of having a family, a new sense of stability and challenges, but also having someone to look after. He had no doubts she’d be a wonderful mom, but he had every doubt in the world about him being an awful father.

Part of him was scared he’d become like his dad. Absent and neglectful. He tried his damn hardest his first few years of adulthood trying to be everything his father wasn’t, trying to break the chain of abuse in his family, and he thought he did pretty damn well, but every time he said or acted in a way that felt like a sliver of something his dad would do he retreated backward, stuck in an endless cycle of trying to be better and failing. He was scared that if he couldn’t control himself, he’d lose his way.

But then Vanessa came along, and she helped him. He didn’t feel like he had to work as hard to keep himself under control. Vanessa made him want to be a better person, and his abusive or neglectful thoughts soon became less intrusive. Having somebody there to love and protect but also to help support and love him back made him realize he didn’t have to fight his childhood battles in the dark.

Then Peter came into their lives, and he got a glimpse of what it would be like with a child, and it was an eye-opener for him. He forgot how attached he could get to a child.

Everything was good too. Wade could get lost in the present with just him and Vanessa, and Peter would make an appearance once in a while, and the three of them together would be wonderful. But then Vanessa asked him about adopting Peter, and he couldn’t think.

It was early in the morning. Thanksgiving day was over and Vanessa was softly breathing next to him sound asleep, but he couldn't fall asleep, his min on Peter. On the one hand, hell fucking _yeah_. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t entertain that thought himself. It would be so easy to bring Peter into his home and never have to return him to anyone else ever again. He loved that boy like he was his own and he’d do anything to protect him, but on the other hand, he loved Peter, and because of that he’d have to let him go. He imagined his life with Peter in it 24/7, and how it could go so well, but also _so_ badly. And although the pros outweighed the cons, the things he was wary about made him believe that giving Peter up would be for the best. It physically pained him knowing that one day Peter would move on and he’d just be another memory that he and Vanessa could look back on, but it would be for the best. He couldn’t bring Peter into this life. One where threats loomed everywhere. He didn't want an Ellie 2.0 situation. 

And Vanessa asked him about Ellie. She didn’t have to say a name, but Wade knew exactly who she was talking about. He didn’t like to think about her, and rarely did nowadays. He didn’t even think about her when he saw Peter, but his thoughts about her drew up from his subconscious.

He couldn’t remember her voice and her physical body was a little blurry, but he’d never forget her personality. She was a ball of fiery sunshine, always outspoken and eager to do the first energetic thing at hand. And as hard as he tried, he’d never forget the look of fear on her face as she fell to her death. A face with tear-streaked fear begging for help that tore him apart for years. The visual staying in his mind during the night, and the guilt following him around during the day. Not even alcohol could wash away that memory. 

She was only eight. She was an innocent civilian who was kidnapped because of Wade, and she died because he couldn’t save her. She was so close in his grasp, but he couldn’t reach out in time.

It’s been almost ten years, but it still resigned in his subconscious.

No, imagining a fate like that for Peter hurt him. He couldn’t do that to the boy, or himself, or Vanessa.

But he told Vanessa he’d think about it, and he’d keep his promise, but he knew already his fear would take over.

_Shit_

Speaking of Peter, he realized it’s been what, four, five days since he said he'd keep in touch? Well, that didn't happen, furthering his thinking about how shit he was at a human being. He caught himself trying to reason himself out of guilt, but catching himself just made him feel worse. The only reasonable excuse was being in the hospital for a whole day, but then after that, there was the entire argument with Vanessa, and then salvaging their stuff and moving, but there was time in there to text Peter. Was thinking about texting him count? He did think of inviting Peter over, but there was no food, and he got caught up in all the sex. He did manage to send him a text though, apologizing and telling Peter to call if he wanted to, and that was something. It’s only been what, four days? That wasn’t _too_ bad… no, that wasn't too bad, it was the excuses he was making up for himself that was bad. He knew he was a shitty adult, and decided to actually adult and send Peter a quick happy Thanksgiving text. 

It was around 2 am so he didn't think Peter would be up, but only minutes later he got a reply. Just a simple “okay.”.

His heart plummeted and his stomach churned. _Fuck_ , he fucked things up. Peter was mad at him. He could practically feel the shunning through the words. He made a promise, and he realized he broke it and Peter probably hated him now. Wade was going to text back, but he decided against it in case Peter didn’t want to hear from him. If he hadn’t blocked him already.

He knew it was a shitty thing to do to ignore the problem when he was the adult, but he wanted to give Peter space. And maybe this was a good thing, Wade could learn to distance himself.

\------

Wade didn't get in touch with Peter at all. He told himself he was just giving the kid space (not at all running away from his shame) when he got a surprise call from Peter. The kid sounded hurt and a little angry, and Wade had a feeling it was because of him and that anger was well deserved, so he took it, waiting for Peter to chew him out, but he didn’t. As the conversation continued, listening to Peter made him think that the kid wasn’t actually mad. Still hurt, understandably, but not mad to the point where he didn’t want to talk to him. They talked about the apartment, but not in detail. Wade wasn’t going to push adult problems on Peter, that wasn’t fair. By the end of the conversation, things seemed to be okay, but what worried him was Peter asking to talk. He never asked to talk.

 

 

Waiting at the park, Wade was thinking. Ever since Vanessa mentioned adoption, Peter was always present in his mind. Even now, sitting on the bench, he watched the moms and occasional dad with their young kids on the playground. The kids were screaming, but having fun all the same.

Wade thought of it. He really wanted that. He wanted a child, but again, danger.

And adopting Peter, he wouldn’t have those young years, and he wondered if Vanessa thought through that too. Maybe she still wanted babies, but how would adopting a teenager affect that? By the time Peter would reach college age, would they even want another kid? If she got pregnant before Peter reached college, would that age difference be too big? There would be a thirteen, fourteen-year difference at least if not more.

All thoughts left him when he spotted Peter walking towards him. Wade’s mood picked up for at most one second before worry overcame him. One look at Peter, with shoulders slightly hunched and body looking all around stiff, Wade knew something was wrong.

Coming closer and sitting down on the bench, Peter looked pale and tense, his eyes a little bloodshot, like something was physically hurting him. The first thought was Westcott did something to him. Anger flared at the thought of Charles beating him, but he stayed calm.

He tried talking to Peter, but Peter was definitely pissed off. His short, snappy answers and his constant shifting came across as him not wanting to be there, and Wade wondered if it was because of him. He knew Peter was pissed at him yesterday, but he thought they got that resolved over the phone. Worried that he miscommunicated yesterday, he tried asking Peter what was wrong, only for Peter to freak out.

One moment Peter was a tense ball of nerves saying something about wind and kids, and then the next he was walking away and on the ground with his hands over his ears screaming and crying.

Wade never felt this much panic in years. He didn’t know what to do. He knelt down beside Peter feeling stupid and useless as he watched this kid having some kind of breakdown right in front of him, screaming and looking very much in pain, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t help when he didn’t know what the problem was. It could have been some kind of panic or anxiety attack? Anything Wade was trying to say was thrown to the wind; the kid wasn’t comprehending anything he was saying.

He looked around to see mothers looking at him warily and pulling their children away while others looked at him judgingly. He could only imagine how this looked. Some thug looking guy with a child who okay, looked ten, but was still old looking enough not to be having a tantrum. Although this wasn’t a tantrum, it sure looked that way.

A couple of mothers and a father came by, and the last thing he needed was to talk to them, but they decided to play playground hero and talk.

“Is everything okay over here?” A middle-aged redheaded lady who looked like she just stepped out of an Old-Navy catalog asked in a falsely sweet tone.

“Does it look like everything’s okay?” Wade shot back, too panicked about Peter to deal with these snoops.

“Hey, mind your tone,” The black-haired woman snapped. She was a little shorter than her redheaded friend but dressed much more casually.

Wade didn’t have time for this. Turning his attention back to Peter, he tried to get past the screaming and into Peter’s mind for Peter to hear him.

“Is this your kid?” The man asked.

“Yes!” Wade said without thinking twice. Surprising himself. It was just because he didn’t want to have to deal with follow up questions if he said no. That’s what he told himself.

“I have to ask you to remove him, he’s upsetting the other kids on the playground,” The redhead said.

“Oh, okay, I’ll make sure your precious, sheltered kids won’t have any competition to who’s screaming the loudest.” Wade’s words dripped sarcasm, but they had a point. He had to get this kid out of the area of the public. For everyone’s sake.

He hesitated while looking at Peter, who was just sobbing now, trying to gauge the best way to get him up. Trying to pick Peter up by the arm made him shriek, catching Wade off guard and accidentally dropping Peter with an unceremonious thud.

“Are you sure he’s your kid?” The red-head asked.

“Do I need to call the police?” The black-haired woman added.

“Are you sure you’re even needed in this conversation?” Wade asked. “Fuck, I could have a conversation with the red-head and still get all the points across.”

The black-haired lady turned and whispered something into her friend’s ear. “I think we should call the police.”

“Listen, lady, if I was a kidnapper, why would I fucking stay around? This is my kid. The mother just deals with this more than I do.”

The judgmental looks that the parents showed just screamed ‘dead beat dad’ thoughts, but Wade couldn’t deal with that right now. He decided he had to do something he hated doing. Make Peter uncomfortable and possibly scared. But trying to get the kid to get up on his own free will wasn’t working, so eventually, he had to grab him by his arm and pull him towards the bathroom kicking and crying. He hated that he had to treat Peter like this, and seeing Peter in this state was heartbreaking, but there really wasn’t any other choice.

He locked Peter in a stall for his own privacy and in a last hope that space was all Peter needed. Sitting down in there and listening to the kid break down was heart-wrenching. It hurt to hear the kid sounding in pain and being unable to do anything.

It went back to what Vanessa said, he couldn’t take care of this kid. He didn’t know how to, and Peter needed someone who was able to comfort him in times like this, whatever this was. He’d be useless as someone Peter would have to look up to. And listening to the crying, all he could imagine was Peter actually injured, and this would be the last sound Wade would hear echoing his mind for the rest of his life.

His thoughts and he exited the world mentally, thinking of children when Peter’s voice broke his thoughts. God, it sounded so small. And hoarse.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” Wade replied as calmly as possible, trying to keep his own shakiness out of his voice. He learned that showing fear never helped a child. The child needed someone strong when they couldn’t be.

Peter asked him to leave, and Wade respected his request. If Peter needed space, he’d give him space, but he didn’t leave. He thought about it. Thought that if Peter didn’t want to see Wade that badly, or if Wade somehow triggered Peter into that bad of a breakdown, then maybe he was doing Peter a favor. He should leave, he really should just walk away and let Peter have his space. 

 _No_. No these thoughts right here are exactly what he was scared of. Walking away is what his dad did- turning a blind eye and ignoring the problem when Wade needed his dad the most. And realizing that’s what he was doing ever since he dropped Peter off at that house opened a door of self-awareness that turned to self-hatred. He had to stop that. Couldn’t believe he’d even do that to Peter, and he cursed himself for even thinking of ditching him. Besides, the sun was setting, and Peter had to get back to… Charles’ safely.

His mind wandered yet again, he realized Peter never referred to Charles’ place as his home. It was always ‘Charles’ place’ or ‘the house’ never his home. Anyways, that didn’t matter, what mattered was waiting and not thinking about Peter. He thought about Vanessa instead and wondered if she were here to experience this, she’d change her mind.

Peter walked out and looked honestly surprised and a little embarrassed that Wade was still there, but he didn’t look triggered, just shaky. Still, Wade knew that Peter could still feel scared of him internally and was just hiding it well.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone. I mean, I did, but you needed to be alone, and I wouldn’t have gone far.” Wade shrugged like it was no big deal. It wasn’t a big deal at all, he’d wait hours if needed, but he was still coming down from his own panic, hoping his voice was light enough to be convincing that everything was fine.

To keep himself distracted, and hopefully, Peter, he asked questions, but clearly, Peter wasn’t in the mood, so Wade gave up. He looked straight ahead while walking, once in a while staring at Peter who walked behind him, still shaking with his head lowered. He was worried that something changed, and he fucked up their friendship. Or worse, that Peter was hurt in places he couldn’t see. Maybe a small chat with Charlie horse would have to happen soon.

Whatever it was, something had to be wrong. He could sense that something was on Peter’s mind, but that could be anything. The kid’s thoughts went a mile a minute.

And if the day could have gotten any worse, Peter fucking collapsed, almost hitting his head on the curb, and if Wade turned around half a second later, he’d probably have a dead kid with blood pooling around his head on the ground.

This was not how he wanted his day to go, but holding Peter close to him felt right, and he felt this overprotective surge wash over him. He always felt protective of Vanessa, but this felt different. Feeling this frail child, cold to the touch and shaking and shuddering in his arms made him want to shield him from all the bad in the world, feeling a distinct protectiveness he never felt before. With Vanessa, he was protective, but he knew she could kick ass by herself. With Peter, he was still just a child, not even thirteen and a half, limited and helpless in this world and all Wade wanted to do was protect him. 

Eventually, though, they had to make it home. He hated having to take Peter back to that house, but Charles was still his guardian, and nobody would benefit if he got Peter back late.

God, he fucking hated Westcott, knew the man was harsh on Peter, part of him wanted Peter to stay, and that was extremely selfish, and he hated it, and another part wanted to call CPS and get the kid carted away somewhere else, except somewhere else could be worse than it was now.

Carrying Peter hurt like hell on his burns, but he’d trudge through it. The burning pain kept his body warm despite being in the cold weather. On the way back, he just stopped thinking, which wasn’t hard for him to not think. But, carrying Peter and having his chest on his back, he could feel the rapid heartbeat. The poor kid was exhausted and probably in fight or flight mode. And Peter nestled in, and he could feel the heartbeat slow to average speed, and if not for the tight grip around his neck, he would have bet the kid fell asleep. Feeling Peter’s heartbeat calmed him down in ways he didn’t know how, but he realized he wasn’t scared.

At this moment, taking care of Peter, feeling the kid’s heartbeat, he realized he didn’t feel scared of taking care of him. Of course, he was scared of the fact that he couldn’t help, but he could learn. And this wasn’t anywhere close to being in the line of fire, but feeling this child’s heartbeat made Wade want to keep him, and he found himself already planning ideas on how to make the environment safer. His worries about becoming his dad till existed, but Wade would kill himself before he broke this kid's heart. 

Maybe. Maybe he could do this.

 

\------

**Vanessa’s POV**

To hear Peter had a mysterious breakdown was concerning as hell, but it didn’t deter her from not wanting to adopt Peter. If they could figure out what caused it, then they could work with it.

But she didn’t push Wade into the subject of adoption and didn’t try to. Wade said he’d think about it and she trusted that he’d talk about it when he wanted to. If it took too long, then she’d bring it up again, but for now, Wade was still thinking.

Days passed since the incident Wade talked about, and that was the last they spoke about Peter.

Vanessa went about her life, going to her job a strip club. She enjoyed that job for the most part, but there were moments where she hated it. Like this time, for instance. Aside from dealing with harassment (which promptly ended when she kicked the man’s ass), she took the night shift, but stupidly decided to take her friend’s shift that started when hers ended, landing her from a 9pm to 7am shift, and then the couple hours to clean up plus the ride back.

She was exhausted and felt like passing out, but seeing Peter sitting at the table with Wade made her day a bit more bearable.

“Look who decided to stop by!” Wade grinned, cards in hand. Poker, it looked like.

Vanessa couldn’t help but smile, albeit wearily, truly happy to see him.

“Yeah, he spent like, twenty minutes sitting outside before deciding to come in. Thought he was stalking at that point.” Wade said, both him and Vanessa laughing as Peter blushed in embarrassment.

“I’m glad you came by,” Vanessa told him, setting down her purse and sitting at the table with them.

She was exhausted, but when Peter asked about the stuffed animal, she woke up a bit and helped him without thinking twice about it. She could put off sleep for a bit longer.

“You don’t have to, though, really, I can come some other day if you’re tired. I don’t want to burden you with something else. This can wait.” Peter almost stumbled over his words, talking fast and anxiously.

“Don’t worry, I can do it now.” 

“Really, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. I still got energy still left in this old body.” Vanessa joked, yet it went over Peter’s head. He smiled, but only out of courtesy.

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to be annoying or anything.”

“You’re not. You’re not a burden or annoying or anything,” Vanessa repeated his words. “Always happy to help.”

She smiled at him, and he returned a soft, relieved smile back, looking down to hide his reaction.

———-

She was in the little bedroom changing into comfier, more appropriate clothes when she heard Wade come in and close the door behind her.

“How long has he been here?” Vanessa asked, not looking at him.

“About an hour, hour and a half maybe. If I include the time he was just sitting across the street? Probably more around 2. I got a say, kid’s getting better at Poker.”

“Mhm,” she acted casual, looking for a shirt to wear. Part of her was hoping Wade would mention the adoption, but he didn’t.

“So, uh-“ Wade took a deep breath and walked closer, “-How was work?”

“Long hours, hot girls, drunk men… so... the usual.” She shrugged while putting on sweats.

“And how’d you chip a nail?” Wade asked, holding her hand to inspect her pointer, which was indeed shorter by at least half than her other nails.

She forgot how observant Wade was in noticing almost every little detail. He didn’t verbally point out every little detail making it easy to forget that he could observe the small things, but the things he did point out always surprised her.

“Some guy was giving me trouble.”

“Do I need to do a little hunting?”

“Nah, the rest of the nail is probably embedded in the dick’s arm. Chipped off right before I twisted his dick.”

“God, I love you.” Wade grinned and gave her a small welcome home peck on the lips. “You didn’t get in trouble?”

“The bouncer and boss are on my side. They kicked him out.” Vanessa explained, putting her hair in a bun. “Now excuse me, I got a bear to stitch up.”

 

——----

She and Peter sat on the couch while Wade went out. She sat cross-legged as she started cutting up an old pillow for his bear, both sitting in comfortable silence.

He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, but there wasn’t any tension, and it looked like he was relaxed and comfortable with the atmosphere. Not tense and on edge like he was in the beginning. She came to realize it was probably just an automatic position he sat in.

He looked almost as exhausted as she did and wondered how his home life was doing. She heard things about Westcott, and she wasn’t fond of this man. From what she’s heard from Wade and other people at Sister Margret’s, the man had a temper. She wanted to ask but didn’t intrude. She’d ask later.

“So, does the bear have a name?” She asked, instead. Wondering what tore this bear. He said it got ripped in the washing machine, but washing machines didn’t do this to stuffed animals. It made them flat and sad looking but didn’t tear a whole row of stitching. Maybe she should ask about his home life.

“It’s Lee.” Peter almost choked on the name. 

Vanessa gave him a look, wondering if the name had some sort of significant meaning. She waited on if Peter was going to continue with a story about the name since he had such a reaction to it, but he didn’t.

“Nice name, it fits him.” She said after a moment of silence, picking up scissors and started cutting along the seam that was torn, pausing when Peter’s panicked voice stopped her.

“I’m cutting the seam open a little more to get more stuffing in, don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” She assured, realizing that she was cutting something significant to him. Nothing she said would be able to comfort him.

She remembered that Wade said he talked to Peter over the phone earlier this week, and wondered how it went. Wade said Peter sounded upset, but he didn’t go into details. She wondered where Wade’s mind was on the adoption thing. She wouldn’t bring it up to Peter at all until she got a definite answer from Wade. She didn’t want to scare Peter away, or worse, give him hope if he liked the idea. She wanted to know how the conversation went, though since things didn’t seem resolved. Even today, she didn’t know where they stood. Yet. Wade would probably talk to her after Peter left.

“Did he do or say something to make you upset?”

“Why?”

The way Peter was fidgeting and starting to close in on himself made Vanessa backpedal. She didn’t want to scare Peter into his shell, she wanted him to know he could trust her, and that he didn’t have to worry or be scared about talking to her.

“You can talk to me, you know, I won’t get mad.” Vanessa stopped what she was doing and looked at him. She hoped that giving him her full attention would help him be more comfortable.

Peter didn’t stop being tense, but he responded, slowly and carefully, but he was sharing, and that was progress. He claimed it wasn’t a big deal, but just listening to his tone and his defeated look Vanessa knew better.

“It was a big deal though. Wasn't it?" Wade might be her boyfriend, but he still had things to work on, and not replying for days was something that annoyed her too. Him passing Peter off like that made her slightly angry, but she contained her annoyance towards Wade well, so she didn’t project it onto Peter.

"...yeah... kind of... just a little bit...not really—"

"Listen, Peter,” Vanessa started, her voice coming out harsher than intended, making the boy flinch and oh god, she didn’t want to be the cause of him flinching.

She didn’t know where Peter’s mind was, how he was really feeling, but she got the general gist, and she didn’t want Peter to feel like he had to pretend around them or feel like he had to hide his true feelings around them. She validated his feelings, making sure he knew that they wouldn’t be mad if he told them something was bothering him, even if they were the cause of his upset feelings.

Listening to him defend Wade, it was adorable, but also seeing Peter’s blind faith in Wade, she knew it could backfire and only hurt him. Peter adored Wade, it was evident since day one, but Peter may be adoring Wade too much if he was too scared of making Wade feel ‘mad’ or ‘bad.’

And then Wade saying the apartment problem was ‘less than 50% of his fault’. Less than 50% her ass, it was 100% his fault, but she wasn’t going to bring their issues with him. He didn’t need to be in the middle of that.

After that, she decided to guide the conversation into much more lighter topics, making sure to look at him and sometimes stop sewing while he was talking to show that she was acknowledging and listening to what he said. She wanted him. She wanted him in their family so badly, but Wade needed to be on the same page. She had some strong opinions about Wade’s fear keeping him cornered, but it wasn’t her place to berate him on them. Arguing and pressuring Wade wouldn’t do anyone well, and if he caved because he felt like he had too wasn’t any better than ‘no’ for an answer. Peter was a child who needed mutual love from adults and didn’t need the drama of one person only having him around because they were doing their spouse a favor. She knew adoption shouldn’t be a selfish choice but a mutual one. She just hoped that in the end, Wade would be on the same page.

Once she was done sewing and let Peter hold it, she knew the instant he touched it he didn’t like it, and even though they had that whole conversation, Peter was still scared to disagree. She didn’t scold him on it. Nobody would outlearn something that was probably ingrained in them for self-preservation. She just hoped that he could get help for that whether it be Wade or her helping him or a future family. She made sure to show positivity when he told her what he wanted. Not in that childish “good job!” way, but a silent, proud smile kind of way. She figured Peter would feel more comfortable with the silence anyway.

“Hey, uh…” Peter started.

Vanessa looked at him, and his demeanor changed yet again. He was tense and fidgeting again, looking at the ground. She braced herself for whatever he was going to say, ready to take it in stride, whether good or bad. It looked like he had something on his mind, but whatever he was going to say, he didn’t say.

“Thanks,” he choked out.

Vanessa paused for a split second before it registered he wasn’t going to talk, but she took his ‘thanks’ in stride, and again, reinforced the idea that he could talk to her whenever he needed to. She hoped one day that Peter would be able to tell her, or Wade if he hadn’t already, without feeling scared to tell.

 

\-------

**Wade’s POV**

About a week passed since Peter was at the safe-house. His presence seemed to make both his and Vanessa’s mood lighten. Things went back to normal now. Talking to Peter, making sure Peter wasn’t mad at him and then letting Vanessa and Peter have some alone time, the days were looking good.

Wade thought long and hard about being a father. It still scared him to death, thinking about Peter. Before, thinking about a future with Vanessa and children, it was easy to think about. That future was uncertain, and those children were just an idea. Kids with no body or name, but only the idea of how it would be like. But Peter, he was here, and he was now. He was a frail underweight kid with a name that became special in Wade’s eyes.

Even without thinking of Peter dying, he thought about his father, and he was scared he would become him. He knew logically that he wasn’t his dad or would become him, but he knew those traits were still in him somewhere. The anger and neglect, even if they weren’t in his conscious, the sliver of his dad still stayed, deep enough that Wade could never pull that sliver out. And the fear of relapsing and letting just one bit of his dad’s attitude whether it be his anger or his neglect being lashed out at Peter, that would effectively ruin their relationship permanently. He imagined walking out or being over the top angry and having Peter there to witness or be the victim… he couldn’t do that.

But the emptiness Peter created after he left made Wade realize Peter made much more of an impact on his domestic life than he wished to admit. And with that, the idea of taking Peter in wasn’t sounding so bad.

He was a merc for god's sake. He was deadly, and people feared him, he shouldn’t be so scared of a kid.

Ha! That’s a thought. Wade knew Peter would have laughed knowing that he scared Wade.

But no, back to the point. His dad was in the past, Ellie was in the past. Vanessa and Peter were in the present. And Wade wanted them in his future. Both of them.

He thought he was ready to have a conversation now.

 

—-----

Wade waited for the right time to talk. They were in bed, the clock not quite at 11 pm yet. Vanessa was reading a book, and Wade was cleaning his guns when he decided to talk.

“So, did you still want to talk adoption?” Wade took his anxiety out through cleaning his gun, making sure it was extra polished. 

“Only if you’re ready,” Vanessa closed her book, looking at him with anticipation.

He knew she wanted to talk to him about this for days, was anticipating this conversation, and Wade apologized that it took two weeks, to which Vanessa just responded that she was surprised it was so soon.

“I’m still on edge about this, just to start off, but I was just thinking… maybe it’s not that bad of an idea…” 

“Okay… do you want to start off with why you are changing your mind?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Wade rubbed the back of his neck. Thought out sentences never was his best trait.

“A pro? He’s happy with us, we both love him, and he’s… happy. We’re happy. Okay, I had to share my pro’s, you gotta say something where you have doubts.”

“Fine,” Vanessa placed her book on the nightstand beside her, giving Wade her full, intense attention. “I’ll be honest. Con: Our jobs are at odd times, and we might not be here as much as needs us to be.”

They went back and forth on the pros and cons, somehow with Wade naming out the cons and Vanessa with the pros.

“Con: What is something happens? What if you or I got hurt? Or died? He's gone through so much pain I can't... would we want to put him through that pain? Or do we want him to be with a family that’s normal where the adults have 9-5 jobs and can support and love him to the fullest.”   
  
“I don't want to put him through that, but... there's a lot of mercenaries out there who have a successful life with families. It's manageable."

"But still. There's a lot of families out there who've lost family who were mercenaries."

"We just have to beat the odds then. We’ll be the kind of people he needs. We can support and love him to the fullest.”

“Okay, con: Family time shouldn’t have to be teaching him how to duck and cover from bullets.”

“Pros: We move somewhere safer, it’ll be a little more pricey.”

“Cons: People can find us wherever we move.”

“Pro: but he’ll be with us.”

“Cons: He’ll be with us.”

“How is that a con?” Vanessa asked incredulously.

“He might get in the line of Fire. He’d be a target, and he’d have to be on the move possibly. He’d be left orphaned again if something happened to us. We might not be the kind of people he needs.”

“Alright, Pro: We know he’ll be loved and taken care of. We can provide for him everything he needs.”

“Con: We can’t ensure safety, that’s a big thing a kid needs. An adoptive family can ensure that.”

“Con: What if he gets adopted into a bad family? What if he doesn’t get adopted? He’ll jump home to Home and not get adopted, he could go to someone way worse, and we wouldn’t be there for him.”

“Hey, I thought you were saying pros?” Wade broke their back and forth arguing. Not that they were getting heated or angry at each other, but Wade could tell so hard that Vanessa wanted Peter even if she barely showed it. And if he was honest, talking to Vanessa, she had a lot of pros to throw at him, outweighing the bad. She was thinking big picture, while he was kept in the corner, scared of something that happened in the past. Maybe he could try to let the past go.

“We have to be adults. 24/7. That’s a lot of responsibility.” Wade was throwing out cons, more as a distraction to allow himself to think more.

“Well, we’re not getting any younger.”

He’s 13? That’s... 6 years of him being with us, and then college. That kid is going to college. That’s a lot of money, and not a lot of time with him.”

“Do you think he’ll just ditch us when he turns eighteen?”

“He could.”

“I highly doubt that,” Vanessa arched her eyebrow.

“He’d be with us 24/7. Do you think you could do that?” Wade asked.

"Any child we have will be with us 24/7."

“He could be completely different behind closed doors.” 

“How much different do you think he could be?” Vanessa furrowed her brows. “He tries to hide it, but he wears his heart on his sleeve.”

“It could be a Jekyll and Hyde kind of moment."

"I _highly_ doubt that. I know it’ll be different with him living with us 24/7, and we’ll see the bad sides of him, but I’m willing to work with that. Are you not?”

“You don’t understand. I would walk through hell for that kid. Deal with his ups and downs and drop everything to see that kid have a bright future and him being with us. But..."

 

“Wade, Wade look at me,” Vanessa reached a hand out and cupped Wade’s face. He could get lost in her eyes, they were gorgeous and full of determination. “The world’s a scary place, and so many things could go wrong, but I’m just trying to show you that just because you think he’s safer from bullets, doesn’t mean he’ll be safe from the rest of the world. Not every one that could harm him will be holding a gun.”

“Yes, but with us, there’s an increased chance that something that could harm him would be holding a gun.”

“Okay. Okay, yes, I understand, but you do realize that even if I do have a baby, that kid’s going to be subjected to this life?”

“Yeah…,”

“And if we do have kids, biological ones, they’re still going to be subjected towards the life we live. And I know we’re going to have to change some of our habits to make the environment appropriate, but I’m willing to work on that. Are you?”

“Yeah, of course, but… kids. Peter. I’m wary of bringing him into this life if it’s not safe.” 

“I understand, but—”

“Shush shush, I’m not done,” Wade held up his pointer finger against her lips in emphasize. “I’m willing to make changes to make life safer.”

Talking out loud, Vanessa was convincing him. It didn’t seem so scary when someone was with him talking about doing this together. She was right, she would be here for Peter as well. It wasn’t just Wade. He was looking at this all wrong.

“I’m willing too,” Vanessa added, letting Wade know he wasn’t alone. She knew she had some cleaning up to do with her own life. “But if we do this together, I know we could be great role models for him.”

“I love that kid. I want to be there for him for the good and bad. I’m willing to work with him through things and help him grow.”

He’s got so much potential, and there’s so much there, it’s just hidden.”

“What if he doesn’t even want to be with us?” Wade was wringing out the last of his doubts.

“Well then, that’s his decision, and we can respect that. But at least work to give him that option.”

“Without all these doubts, what do you want, Wade?”

_An image of Peter smiling around him, completely relaxed and free to be able to be a child._

“I… I want him safe,” Wade said slowly.

_Peter kidnapped, at someone’s mercy. No, don’t think that._

“I want him safe too, and we can’t ensure his safety in future foster homes, and he may not be 100% safe with us, but nobody is 100% safe no matter what age or social status, but we can try our damn hardest protecting him ourselves.” God, Vanessa had a way with her words. "What do you think?"

_Peter with them, smiling and happy._

“I guess I could get safer jobs, they still pay well…” Hearing himself out loud, he could almost convince himself, but his doubts seeped through.

_Peter being shot, his frail body dying in Wade’s arms._

_No, no, no, go away._

“If I have to, I can change jobs too. Get something more ‘practical’ for a to-be parent.” She agreed, holding Wade’s hand.

_Peter being able to live with people he loves_

“We really would love him. Wouldn’t we?” Wade smiled, he was so close.

_Peter having a fulfilling life._

“Yeah, yeah, we would. Love him like our own.” She smiled back, seeing that Wade was so close, but he had to cross the line himself.

“We could be good parents to him, couldn’t we?” Wade said before pausing, coming to reality. He really was making a life-changing decision. He couldn’t believe it. Panic flushed through him, conflicting feelings. Should-he, shouldn’t-he kind of thoughts.

“I think… I uh…” he wanted Peter. He just had to say the word. He had to push away his doubts. Follow his heart. Or was it gut, he didn’t know, but what he did know his heart and gut were not agreeing.

He just had to push past those doubts and say what he wanted.

And what he wanted was Peter.

“I…” 

_An image of Ellie flashed through his mind._

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been a tense story, so here's a chapter of healthy, functioning relationships before we're about to kick off into the dark shit. Wanted to post this ASAP because I know the next chapter will take time (probably) to finish writing/editing
> 
> I know that this is like, 4/5 dialogue, but their back and forth conversations are fast I feel like too much description would break the flow and not get in all the details like I want. Like I said in the top notes, the future chapters won't be as heavy. Hope you guys liked this chapter and it wasn't too messy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like it and want to see more, please leave a comment! (Or Kudos, those are good too), they're always lovely and a big motivator to continue. Constructive criticism is appreciated as well. 
> 
> I apologize for any grammatical errors (I don't have a beta), but I do try editing to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Want to talk or have a prompt? My Tumblr is The-Infinant-One  
> My Marvel/Spideypool one is careless-things


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